tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48557967528262979372017-07-08T05:33:16.588-07:00Woofer's LairWooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.comBlogger95125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-75636571455116699992017-06-12T11:32:00.001-07:002017-06-12T11:32:21.761-07:00Don't Mess with the Ness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VtmUYsFUZsc/WQGkeoj0LSI/AAAAAAAABLA/4gZab1akig8XeEnRFzM4I-ZyErkQTePQgCLcB/s1600/51CM4C7V3rL._SX331_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VtmUYsFUZsc/WQGkeoj0LSI/AAAAAAAABLA/4gZab1akig8XeEnRFzM4I-ZyErkQTePQgCLcB/s320/51CM4C7V3rL._SX331_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>After have read Hunter Shea's <i>The Jersey Devil</i>, I was eager to jump into another one of his novels to see if he could deliver the same thrills twice in a row. It was a no brainer as to what book of his I would read next, as I have loved The Loch Ness Monster ever since I was a kid, and often fantasized about camping out on the shores of Loch Ness with the hopes of catching site of the elusive Nessie.<br /><br />As the title boldly claims, <i>Loch Ness Revenge</i> is a tale of vengeance. It tells the story of Natalie and Austin McQueen, a brother and sister pairing who are seeking revenge on the creature that killed their parents. Kids at the time, they witnessed the serpentine creature constrict, then drag under the two people they loved most in the world. Left in the care of an aunt, they came into their inheritance when they turned eighteen. Austin did his best to move on with his life, but Nat, consumed by rage, grief, and a thirst for vengeance, sacrifices everything to get back at the creature that robbed her of her parents. Camped out on the shore of Loch Ness, she begins the long wait for Nessie to make an appearance.<br /><br />It's Nat's belief that Nessie sightings come in waves, and when her suspicions are confirmed, she reaches out to her brother to come share in their moment of victory. Joining them is Henrik Kooper, a man haunted by his own monsters, and together they set out to destroy Scotland's prehistoric mascot. As the battle rages, their survival becomes questionable, as they make a discovery none of them could ever have expected.<br /><br />Once again Shea delivers a fast-paced thrilled ride of epic proportions. Style-wise, it reminded of old Koontz books in that it catches you up in a wave in the first chapter and carries you through to the very last page, but unlike Koontz, whose endings, in my opinion, tend to fall flat, Shea's ending is satisfactory and doesn't leave the reader feeling disappointed. He does, however, leave you chomping at the bit for more as he sets up what we hope will be his next novel.<br /><br />My only disappointment with this novel is that the cryptozoologist introduced in <i>The Jersey Devil</i> doesn't make a reappearance in this one, which had the perfect setup for him to appear. If you're a fan of creature feature fiction, this one is definitely one to pick up.<br /><br />Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-84200405195945959762017-04-24T10:00:00.003-07:002017-04-24T10:00:51.650-07:00A Devil of a Good Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4oAC9d0KtG0/WP2968ulT1I/AAAAAAAABKA/9RJtVYcsts0pzHU0YlaJPj0743ztyiGnQCLcB/s1600/51qUpmWXgrL._SY344_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4oAC9d0KtG0/WP2968ulT1I/AAAAAAAABKA/9RJtVYcsts0pzHU0YlaJPj0743ztyiGnQCLcB/s320/51qUpmWXgrL._SY344_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" width="195" /></a></div>In addition to being a fan of giant creatures, I also happen to be a fan of cryptids. Bigfoot, chupacabra, the Mothman, I love them all. So when I saw Hunter Shea's <i>The Jersey Devil</i>, I knew it immediately it would find its way into my TBR pile. As to when I would get to it, that's another story. And that's only because I'd never read anything by Hunter Shea, so I wasn't making it a priority like I do with something authors. Turns out, it only took me about eight months to get to it — and I'm kicking myself for having waited so long.<br /><br />The Pine Barrens of New Jersey is home to the Jersey Devil, a winged, cloven hoofed creature described as being a cross between a horse, goat, bat, and man. Like its fellow cryptids, the Devil is elusive, preferring to keep itself hidden within the wilds of the Pine Barrens, but something has happened, something that has forced the Jersey Devil out of hiding and sightings are on the rise. However, unlike sightings in the past, the Jersey Devil has become aggressive and is actively hunting those who venture into the Barrens.<br /><br />To the Willet clan, the Jersey Devil is no legendary creature. Sam Willet has had an up close and personal encounter with the creature, and years back, it abducted his fiance. While she eventually escaped, she was never quite right afterward, and the encounter left her marked with a birth mark in the shape of a cloven hoof. What the mark means, neither she nor her husband know. What they do know is the mark has been passed on to their only child, who, in turn, has passed it along to his children. For years now, they've tracked the sightings of the Jersey Devil, which, for the most part, have been rare to non-existent. But now that they sightings have increased in frequency, Sam Willet has decided now is the time to get to the bottom of things and find out what the mark means. He and his family head into the Pine Barrens to confront the Devil, but they encounter more than they bargained for, and finding out what the mark means has been all but forgotten as they fight for their very lives.<br /><br />There's a certain predictability to Shea's novel and there are few surprises, as early on it is revealed what causes the Devil to go from relatively docile to practically rabid —&nbsp;if you can't figure it out, you haven't watched enough environmental horror films — and I called the birth marks early on, but that doesn't take away the fun of the book. What Shea does deliver, though, is a thrill ride worthy of the best slasher films. He launches you into the action on the first page, and doesn't let you rest until the very last page. There is, however, one twist that took me by surprise, which I will keep mum on. If you want to know, you'll just have to read it for yourself.<br /><br />The other thing Shea delivers is a set of fully realized characters, ones you get to know and care about, which is rare in today's horror fiction, and find yourself rooting for as they go up against insurmountable odds. There's one character in particular, Norm Cranston, a cryptozoologist, that I became particularly fond of, and I hope he makes appearances in Shea's other novels.<br /><br />This is my first foray into the worlds of Hunter Shea, but it definitely won't be my last. Already a quarter of the way into <i>Loch Ness Revenge</i>.<br /><br />Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-34619711609152165422017-03-13T11:26:00.003-07:002017-03-13T11:28:48.565-07:00Come into MyParlor, Said the Spider to the Fly<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dread-Breakfast-Stuart-R-West-ebook/dp/B01NBNDI3A" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RPo_RELgbr0/WMba7d0Z7UI/AAAAAAAABJQ/UAdtjYZApEg_4Du30841t0UwEyPMXcyHwCLcB/s320/Dread%2Band%2BBreakfast%2B-%2BStuart%2BR%2BWest%2B-%2BeBook.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dread-Breakfast-Stuart-R-West-ebook/dp/B01NBNDI3A" target="_blank"><br /></a></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Stuart R. West is a new author for me, so I went into <i>Dread and Breakfast</i> not knowing what to expect. I only knew that the cover was awesome! And it didn't take long to realize that the book I was reading was equally as awesome!<br /><br />West doesn't waste words with lengthy buildup before getting into the heart of the story. From page one, where a girl is murdered during what the killer describes as "date night", we're thrust right into the thick of things.<br /><br />We've seen the premise before: a group of strangers are forced to take shelter from a storm under the same roof, and while outwardly all the characters seem harmless enough, they all harbor dark secrets, some darker than others. And because of that, the rest of the "guests" are in jeopardy with little chance of escaping, thanks to what the weathermen are calling the Storm of the Century. You have a young newlywed couple eager to start their new life together; young mother and her daughter fleeing from an abusive husband; a nerdy accountant who has absconded with a tidy sum of his boss's money; a security consultant who sometimes takes side jobs for his boss -- all of whom take shelter at the Dandy Drop Inn, an establishment owned by a sweet elderly couple, Jim and Dolores Dandy, and run by their adopted son, Christian. The only guests with reservations are the newlyweds; the others are forced to seek shelter when the storm makes driving conditions too dangerous to stay on the road. Think Agatha Christie's <i>The Mousetrap</i>.<br /><br />As if this cast of characters isn't enough, West sets up a collision course at the inn with a rogue cop seeking to get his wife and daughter back and a betrayed mafia don out for revenge on the man who stole his money and the hit man who teamed up with the thief to split the money and run.<br /><br />As the snow builds up on the outside, the body count builds up on the inside. Who is smart enough, strong enough, driven enough, to survive the bloodshed and see the storm through to the end.<br /><br /><i>Dread and Breakfast</i> is a fast-paced thriller that will leave you on the edge of your seat until the very end. The characters are all likable -- well, most of them anyway -- and have a certain charm that will have you rooting for them as they try every avenue of escape possible, only to be cut off (some literally) by the killer. And just when you think you have it all figured out and know who is going to survive, BAM! West delivers a twist you will not see coming and which once again will leave you wondering who will live and who will die.<br /><br />As I said, <i>Dread and Breakfast</i> was my first West novel, but it definitely won't be my last. I highly recommend this one. Guaranteed, once you've picked it up, you won't want to put it down.<br /><br /><br /><br />Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-69797620897472154252017-01-17T13:21:00.003-08:002017-01-17T13:21:51.121-08:00Ghost Girl on the Train<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lf3iz9qQGaA/WH6CxIFwxqI/AAAAAAAABHw/yUrhtFDV1q8LFIovIoKKULQakuq8Q-GFACLcB/s1600/3e7c1a92-ac50-43ac-ab53-0c6cc17859bc_1.94dd19da6fcb463c8e96afbb8ccc2e5e.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lf3iz9qQGaA/WH6CxIFwxqI/AAAAAAAABHw/yUrhtFDV1q8LFIovIoKKULQakuq8Q-GFACLcB/s320/3e7c1a92-ac50-43ac-ab53-0c6cc17859bc_1.94dd19da6fcb463c8e96afbb8ccc2e5e.jpeg" width="199" /></a></div>I have to admit, as much as I love the Pepper Martin Mysteries, I went into this one with some reservations. After a solid start to the series, Daniels stumbled with <i>Dead Man Talking</i>, Book 5 in the series. She regained her momentum with <i>Tomb With a View</i>, so I wasn't sure what to expect with <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hard-Fright-Pepper-Martin-Mystery/dp/0425240568" target="_blank">A Hard Day's Fright</a></i>. Needless to say, I couldn't put this one down.<br /><br />For those who aren't familiar with Pepper, she has a rare gift, thanks to an unfortunate accident where she was knocked unconscious after tripping and hitting her head on the corner of a mausoleum while giving a tour of Cleveland's Garden View Cemetery, home to many deceased celebrities. When she comes to, she has the unfortunate ability to see dead people. And not only can she see them, she can hear them -- and the one thing's she's discovered is that the dead do not shut up until they get what they want. And since Pepper is the only one who can communicate with them, it's up to her to complete whatever mission they have in store for her so both she and the spirit can finally have some peace and quiet. Unfortunately for Pepper, there never seems to be a break in the action because there's always some departed soul who needs her help. <i>A Hard Day's Fright</i> is no exception.<br /><br />Thanks to mechanical issues with her car, Pepper is forced to rely on public transportation to get herself to and from work. During a ride on the train, she is confronted by the ghost of a teenager who can't move on until her remains are found and she has no clue as to where they can be. Faced with a nigh-on-impossible task, Pepper is tempted to walk away once she realizes the girl's spirit cannot leave the train, but she quickly has a change of heart once she hears Ella, her boss at Garden View, mentions the girl's name in relation to her youngest daughter's irresponsible behavior. Pepper soon learns that Lucy Pasternak had been Ella's best friend when they were in school, and Ella was the last person to ever see Lucy. Ella refuses to believe Lucy is dead; her belief is that she disappeared and is alive and well somewhere, maybe being held hostage (for forty-five years!).<br /><br />Little by little, one false lead after another, Pepper, aided by Ella and Ariel, Ella's youngest daughter, slowly pieces together the puzzle she thought she never stood a chance of solving.<br /><br />What was so refreshing about this particular outing is that never during the investigation did Pepper find her life at risk. There are a few surprising twists, some laughs, and an ending I didn't see coming, which has me hungry for the next installment to find out what Pepper is going to do. These books are light, fun reads that you can polish off in a day or two, and despite the nature of the investigation, you always come away from the books feeling good. If you haven't had the good fortune to make Pepper's acquaintance, I strongly urge you to do so. And while each book does stand on its own, they usually pick up right where the last one left off or within a short period of time afterward, so I would suggest starting at the very beginning with <i>Don of the Dead</i>.Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-54489914783113330302017-01-01T09:54:00.002-08:002017-01-01T09:54:37.267-08:00Rock and Roll Will Never Die...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OPCk-VdVFwc/WGk66YAwLiI/AAAAAAAABG4/zieqAH56IzgO2M9eA_OTmDGJLq6zuCJ0QCLcB/s1600/Rock%2BPaper%2BScissors%2B-%2BSebastian%2BBendix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OPCk-VdVFwc/WGk66YAwLiI/AAAAAAAABG4/zieqAH56IzgO2M9eA_OTmDGJLq6zuCJ0QCLcB/s320/Rock%2BPaper%2BScissors%2B-%2BSebastian%2BBendix.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>... the artists, on the other hand... Well, that's a different story altogether.<br /><br />I continue my review of Grinning Skull Press's Grave Marker line with "Rock, Paper, Scissors" by Sebastian Bendix, which deals with The Tailor, a nightmarish figure of legend that parents called upon to handle unruly and unkempt children. When he is accidentally summoned by a grunge rock band during a late-night jam session, all hell breaks loose. You see, The Tailor wants to help The Filthy Habits clean up their act -- whether they want his help or not.<br /><br />"Rock, Paper, Scissors" is a typical slasher story, so you've probably seen the scenario in countless other stories or movies, but the villain in this one is unique, as I've never come across a story that deals with The Scissor Man. The other thing that differs with this one is the characters, especially Dreads. In these types of tales, you usually find yourself rooting for the monster, but in this one, she's the one you find yourself rooting for, as she finds herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. From the beginning, she questions why she's with the band when she deserves so much more, and she's considering breaking out on her own because she realizes that she's going nowhere as long as she stays with these losers. But it seems she's made her decision to leave one day too late, and she's racing through the run-down textile mill that houses their studio desperately looking for a way out. The Tailor, however, has been quite thorough in blocking all the exits. Will The Filthy Habits live long enough to play their next gig, or will their music live on without them? This one is highly recommended.<br /><br />GSP's Grave Markers are short, satisfying reads they don't leave you hanging. They're complete tales that are perfect for that long wait in the doctor's office, that long morning commute, or that afternoon where you don't want to get bogged down in a novel and find short stories too short to be satisfying.Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-79858734622658111492016-11-09T13:12:00.001-08:002016-11-09T13:12:36.886-08:00A Misguided Saint<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7wgXeAm2k3Q/WCOHhX-faQI/AAAAAAAABC8/MEwV0NN8kKMYvBnQuz7SPo0SlxGc9xssgCLcB/s320/Grave%2BMarker%2BNikolis%2BCole%2BThe%2BLow%2BRise%2BSaint%2B-%2BRichard%2BBlack.jpg" width="213" /></div><br />Last year, Grinning Skull Press launched a new line of short fiction called <i>Grave Markers</i>. What are they? Stories ranging between 10,000 and 20,000 words, too long for anthologies, but not long enough to be published as stand-alone novellas. They're published individually in digital format, and then later on in print as 3-in-1 compilations. Richard Black's <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Nikolis-Cole-Low-Rise-Richard-Black-ebook/dp/B010EJQTG0" target="_blank">Nikolis Cole: The Low-Rise Saint</a></i> was the premier release in this new line. What's it about? Well, read on.<br /><br />War has broken out on the streets of Southeil between two rival gangs over the death of one gang leader's first lieutenant. The war has raged on for nearly a year, with no end in sight. The only chance Detective Karen Oswalt and her partner have of ending the war is by bringing the killer to justice. Unfortunately, they haven't a clue. When they receive a phone call from a long-thought-dead informant claiming to know who the killer is, they jump at the chance and arrange a meeting, never thinking for one moment that they might be walking into a trap. What they do walk into defies explanation, something their cop instincts (and common sense) say can't possibly exist, but there it is. They need to come to terms quickly with what they are witnessing, otherwise their very lives might be forfeit.<br /><br />Even though the piece is short, Black showcases his talents as a writer by creating a believable world populated with realistic characters you quickly get to know and and like (well, some of them, at least). His vivid descriptions of the gritty landscape places the reader on the streets of Southeil, and you come away from the story feeling just a little grungy, but wanting more. The story begs for expansion, and if not an expansion, at least another installment, and I could definitely see a movie being made of this. &nbsp; &nbsp;<br /><br />Those who follow my reviews know there's usually a but coming, but in this instance, there is no but. If you're looking for something to read, but don't have the time to invest in a full-length novel, I would definitely recommend this tale, as it could very easily be finished within half an hour.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-40892124409312777352014-08-30T12:08:00.002-07:002014-08-30T13:12:48.913-07:00What a Dick!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sick-Head-Duane-Bradley-ebook/dp/B00M8O70TA/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&amp;qid=1409429516&amp;sr=8-1&amp;keywords=sick+in+the+head"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0oHfUnBdSKw/VAIYLaxCJ-I/AAAAAAAAA1I/brQZ3rPq7k4/s1600/sick%2Bin%2Bthe%2Bhead_.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div><br />Don't ask what possessed me to buy Duane Bradley's <i>Sick in the Head</i>, because I have no idea. Maybe it was a freebie, maybe it was only 99 cents, but whatever the reason, I'm glad I did.<br /><br />Detective Greg Parker, like most men, isn't exactly happy with the size of his pecker, so when he stumbles across the means of making it larger, he... well, he doesn't exactly jump at the chance because it involves eating another man's penis (we're not talking blowjob here), but when the opportunity presents itself in the former of a Lorena Bobbitt-type cast off, he takes advantage of the situation (tastes like chicken). While this "ancient Chinese secret" has the desired effect, it isn't without side effects: Parker's pecker literally takes on a life of its own. It can talk, and it doesn't always need to be attached to Parker to seek out what it wants. And since Parker, like most men, tends to think with his crotch, we all know what Seymour (yeah, that's its name) wants. The only problem is that with each sexual conquest, Seymour grows. There's no stopping it (you know where this is going, don't you?). Eventually what we're faced with is The Attack of the 50 Foot Penis. How will New York City survive? Well, I won't spoil the fun, but there is a secret weapon that is rolled out that had me literally laughing out loud.<br /><br />Given the nature of the book, it's obviously not for everyone, but if you if you have a slightly warped sense of humor like I do, then you will enjoy <i>Sick in the Head</i>. The story is short and moves at a fast pace, and Bradley's sense of twisted humor, while sophmoric (what else can you expect when telling the story about a mobile talking penis?), is spot on. I wasn't expecting much when I started reading, but quickly found I did not want to put it down until I reached the end. If you can put your delicate sensibilities aside and suspend your disbelief (crumple it up and throw it out the window), then I would highly recommend this one.<br /><br /><br />Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-21352289773874116872014-08-15T02:12:00.003-07:002014-08-15T02:12:59.008-07:00A Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nXWjIPDO_5o/U-26Kcgo4BI/AAAAAAAAAzc/JcFZFfL7eAQ/s1600/bear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nXWjIPDO_5o/U-26Kcgo4BI/AAAAAAAAAzc/JcFZFfL7eAQ/s1600/bear.jpg" height="320" width="209" /></a></div>Back in July I made my annual trek to Rhode Island for NECON, a small gathering of horror writers and artists. One of the discussions I got involved in was the trend toward Monster Porn that seems to be so popular on Amazon these days. Tawdry covers and titles like <i>Taken by a T-Rex</i>, <i>Raped by a Raptor</i>, and&nbsp;<i>Moan for Bigfoot</i>. No, I haven't read them, but someone asked me if I had ever read <i>Bear </i>by Marian Engel, and silly me had never even heard of it. I asked what it was about and was told it was about a woman who has sex with a bear. "A werebear," says I, thinking along the lines of paranormal romance, and he said, "No, a real bear." He went on to say that it had been a bestseller in Canada and even won some sort of award. Turns out the the award it won was the Governor General's Award, the highest honor a book can receive in Canada. Curiosity got the better of me; I had to check it out. I mean, how bad can it be, right? Bestiality? I've read worse.<br /><br />The novel starts off innocently enough with the Institute Lou, our central character, is employed by inherits the Cary estate, which is situated on a remote Canadian island. Lou is sent to settle the estate and catalog the massive library contained within the house, as it was requested that the library not be separated from the property. Lou doesn't quite know what to expect upon her arrival at the house; the one thing she is not expecting, however, is a bear. A tame bear. It seems the previous own kept a bear on the property, penned up and chained the way you would a dog in an outdoor kennel.<br /><br />At first she wants little to do with the animal, and the bear expects nothing from her except its food, but it seems the prior owner was fascinated by the species, as were her ancestors, as there are notes written on slips of paper in just about every book Lou picks up, all revealing some cultural or historical fact about bears. It might be subliminal, but before too long she takes an active interest in the bear, taking it for walks, swimming with it, and even allowing it into the house to curl up by the fireplace while she works. With no one else on the island save for an old Indian woman, who Lou has only encountered once or twice, Lou has no social outlet unless she wants to take a trip to the mainland, so she turns to the bear as a companion. The relationship between the two progresses quite rapidly, and eventually becomes intimate, and that's when Lou begins to lose herself. She becomes more of a wild woman, living only for the bear, and it seems like she is willing to give up her previous life to stay on the island and care for the bear. The inability to consummate their relationship by committing that final act &nbsp;frustrates Lou, and at first she blames the bear, but then she realizes the fault lies with her, and what she was attempting to do is wrong. She does make one last attempt to "seal the deal" so to speak, and ends up being gravely hurt in the process. <br /><br />The book itself is not a bad book, and once you get past the "eww" factor of a woman performing intimate acts with a wild animal, you see what the book is really about. During the course of the narrative, we find that Lou tends to give of herself with no expectation of getting anything in return. This can be said if her work life and her romantic life. Her relationship with the bear is symbolic of &nbsp;her life, and you go through it wondering when she is going to wake up and realize that what she is doing is wrong. That point does come, and with it comes that realization that she deserves more out of life.<br /><br />After I finished reading <i>Bear</i>, I closed the book and wondered, <i>What was so great about that? It was okay, but hardly worthy of the award and praise it has gotten</i>. But now that some time has passed and I've had a chance to look at it as a whole, I see how amazing the book truly is and how skillfully the author was able to encapsulate all aspects of this woman's life in that one relationship. I would highly recommend it.Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-65364990003644764122013-06-17T23:38:00.002-07:002013-06-17T23:38:41.610-07:00IT'S A BEAUTIFUL DAY IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-26CarPbBwsA/Ub_e3YmDRbI/AAAAAAAAAuY/i71hXBtfZOA/s1600/worm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-26CarPbBwsA/Ub_e3YmDRbI/AAAAAAAAAuY/i71hXBtfZOA/s320/worm.jpg" width="201" /></a></div>I didn't go to the movies a lot when I was a kid. To get my fix, I relied on the <i>4:30 Movie</i>, which would have theme weeks, and at least once a month <i>The Million Dollar Movie</i> showed a classic horror film. And then there was always the movies shown later Saturday mornings/early afternoons. These were where I first saw movies like <i>THEM!</i>, <i>The Deadly Mantis</i>, <i>Tarantula</i>, etc., movies I fell in love with on first viewing, and movies I never get tired of watching. So naturally, when I saw the cover of Tim Curran's new novella, <i>Worm</i>, I knew I just had to read it.<br /><br />Welcome to Pine Street, a typical street in a typical suburban neighborhood. It could be anywhere in the United States. It's the kind of street where, like it or not, everybody knew everybody else. The residents are your typical, everyday people. There's Tony, an unemployed schlep whose wife dotes more on the rugrat of a dog she calls Stevie than she does on him. There's the wholesome, all-American Girl Next Door, friendly and flirtatious. There's the feisty old lady, Bertie. There's Ivy and Geno, Kathleen and Pat, and a host of others, each living their humdrum lives on their boring little street. All that is about to change.<br /><br />From deep underground, a stinking, black sludge starts to bubble up into the streets. It's rising up through the sewer pipes to fill bathtubs and toilets, kitchen sinks and bathroom sinks. It's rising fast, and by the time they think to get in their cars and trucks and get the Hell out of Dodge, it's too late, because not only is this sewage thick enough to bog down the most rugged of vehicles, it's also the home to hundreds carnivorous worms. Ranging in size from eels to pythons, these worms possess row upon row of needle-sharp teeth, just right for boring into some tender flesh. And somebody just rang the dinner bell, and these suckers never say no to a free meal.<br /><br />Reading <i>Worm</i>, I was reminded of a couple of my favorite movies. It's a cross between <i>Squirm</i> and <i>Tremors.</i>&nbsp;It also brought to mind&nbsp;Keene's <i>The Conqueror Worms</i>, but unlike Keene's novel, which, while enjoyable, tends to have its slow moments, Curran's work is a nonstop onslaught of wormy action. But for all of the enjoyment I received while reading Worm, and for all the memories of my childhood it brought back of being glued to the television while some giant nasty laid waste to a town, I couldn't help but feel cheated after I finished. For all of Curran's thrills and chills as people fight to survive, he fails to deliver in one respect, and that's with the origin of the worms. Considering the size of the novella, there was plenty of room to expand this to a full-length novel had he he chosen to split the focus of the story between the events unfolding on Pine Street and those going on beyond this little community. We know what's happening on Pine Street is not an isolated incident, that it's happen throughout the town and authorities are in the process of evacuating people. Let's see what's happening on the outside, as well as underneath. Are these worms a natural occurrence, nature's way of striking back for all the wrongs we have committed against her? Are they a government experiment gone wrong? Or are the something dark, more sinister? Maybe even supernatural. The Devil's minions. We don't know, and it's frustrating. Had we been provided this bit of information, <i>Worm</i> would have been a more enjoyable read. However, since we aren't, I have no choice but to take off points.<br /><br />Despite this one flaw, <i>Worm</i> is highly recommended. I've only read one other novel by Curran (<i>Graveworm</i>) before this, but I'll definitely be reading more, as Curran delivers the thrills and chills along with the best of them. He's a voice to watch.<br /><br />Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-1425101640912143892013-06-13T00:20:00.001-07:002013-06-13T00:20:31.909-07:00MMM-MMMM GOOD<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G9NRAEXxWVs/UblCjseQe5I/AAAAAAAAAtk/5rwCi4qt8sI/s1600/CANNIBAL+FAT+CAMP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G9NRAEXxWVs/UblCjseQe5I/AAAAAAAAAtk/5rwCi4qt8sI/s320/CANNIBAL+FAT+CAMP.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Sometimes the cover alone will make me pick up a certain book, and such was the case with <i>Cannibal Fat Camp</i> by Mark C. Scioneaux and David C. Hayes. Remember those "taboo" Garbage Pail Kids trading cards (a bastardization of Cabbage Patch kids)? I loved them only because they poked fun of those hideous dolls every went crazy over, so this was a "must have" for that alone. The fact that Mark's name was on the cover was a plus. Not too long ago I read <i>The Glass Coffin: A Zombie Tale</i> and knew he was name to watch.<br /><br />Meet Miles Landish. A neglected 17-year-old rich kid who makes Jabba the Hutt look like a Victoria's Secret Model. Threatened with being expelled from school after being caught red-handed breaking into lockers and scarfing down other students' lunches, his parents are at a loss as to what to do. Food is controlling the boy's life, and something needs to be done. That something turns out to be Camp Tum Tum, an exclusive fat camp for the rich and spoiled. At Camp Tum Tum, supervised by a team of Health Nazis, Mile will learn everything he needs to take control of his life. Things spiral out of control rather quickly, however, when a case of corporate sabotage elsewhere in the world has tsunami effect on this small, remote island retreat. Just how far will a group of morbidly obese teenagers go to survive? The title says it all.<br /><br />Let me start off by saying that <i>Cannibal Fat Camp</i> is not for everybody, especially if gross-out humor is not your thing. And I mean it when I say humor. <i>Cannibal Fat Camp</i> is hilarious—in a sick, twisted sort of way. It's so over the top that you can't help but laugh even though the scenes &nbsp;as they play out are grounded in reality (You don't think so? Remember the 1972 plane crash that left a Rugby team stranded in the Andes? In order to survive their ordeal, they had to resort to cannibalism.). Combining humor and horror is never an easy, but Scioneaux and Hayes manage to do it successfully: The news and medical reports help keep the reader's feet firmly planted in reality, even if the doctor is a sarcastic SOB; the diary and journal entries allow the reader an insight into the characters that a standard narrative wouldn't allow; the letters home that Miles writes add a subtle humor to the story (and maybe that's an age thing), as the reader hears Allan Sherman and Lou Busch's "Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah" (<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9jjiWS__Mp0">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9jjiWS__Mp0</a>) playing through their head; and the recipes? I was howling.<br /><br />Despite the humor, there are elements in <i>Cannibal Fat Camp</i> that ring true to the world today: childhood obesity and bullying. Society is concerned with the rising number of obese children and tries to instill in children the need to eat right, but what you don't hear is an attempt to research and resolve the root cause of the obesity epidemic. The authors touch on that here as they attempt to find out the reason for Miles' food addiction. Miles himself claims not to know why he eats the way he does, but we can see it's a cry for attention. You would think that the ridicule he receives at school would be enough to make him turn himself around, but Miles doesn't feel he's worthy of trying to better himself. When his own parents don't seem to care, why should he? Subconsciously he's hoping his parents will wake up to what's going on and extend a caring hand. Nowhere is that more obvious than in the letters home, where Miles admits to being a disappointment to them and it's no wonder they wanted to ship him off, maybe to forget about him altogether. In truth, when we first meet Miles, we don't like him very much, but as we get a deeper insight into the character, our feelings change and we end up feeling sorry for him. We start rooting for him, hoping he'll be able to turn himself. The same cannot be said for some of the other characters, one in particular: Charles York. Charles is a take-charge type, and he's quick to assess the situation, but we soon realize that he's not all there mentally. The guy's a sociopath, and the more we learn about him, the less we like him.<br /><br />One could argue that the pacing of the story was off, that "civilization" deteriorated too rapidly, but when you are dealing with undisciplined, unsupervised children, is it too hard to imagine that things could spiral out of control so quickly? Think back to when you were a teen and your parents left you alone for the weekend for the very first time. What was the first thought that ran through your head? PARTY!! And consider how quickly rioting and looting break out in times of disaster. No, the events that transpire are not that hard to imagine at all.<br /><br />Well written with well-developed characters, <i>Cannibal Fat Camp</i> is an enjoyable read from beginning to warped, twisted ending that I would highly recommend. However, if you are in any way squeamish or easily grossed out, I would advise reading this on an empty stomach, otherwise you just might be running for the bathroom. Bon appetit!<br /><br /><br />Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-89315159876993073142013-05-27T11:28:00.000-07:002013-05-27T11:34:41.015-07:00SHOULD HAVE KEPT IT IN HIS PANTS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-23AJMdwUDSQ/UaOcrQoKL_I/AAAAAAAAAtE/pK4I1F_X-rA/s1600/Image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-23AJMdwUDSQ/UaOcrQoKL_I/AAAAAAAAAtE/pK4I1F_X-rA/s320/Image.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I'm not sure what prompted me to grab Derek Clendening's <i>The Business</i>—maybe it was a freebie download from Amazon, I don't remember—since I'd never read anything by the author before; all I know is it's been sitting on my Kindle for like forever and I figured it was time to read it. I should have put it off a little bit longer. Mercifully, it was a short read.<br /><br />Twenty-five years ago, Roland McAlister was at the top of his game. He was a championship wrestler, had money in the bank, and a wife waiting for him at home—and a "rat" in every town he stopped in... and by rat I don't mean the rodent. That's what he called his hook-ups, his mistresses, the flavor of the day, which gives you some idea of what kind of guy Roland really was. In Detroit, there was one woman, Gloria, who he claimed to really have a connection with, but when she comes to him to let him know she's pregnant, she's out like yesterday's trash. There was no way he was going to be a father to this whore's little rugrat.<br /><br />Jump twenty-five years to present day and Roland is just a shell of the man he used to be. Having suffered a heart attack, he is now confined to a wheelchair. Life is good, or as well as it can be given his condition. He has a wife who loves him (wife No. 3) and a steady income from some illegal dealings (steroids) on the side. All that is about to come crashing down around him when he receives a phone call. From Gloria's son. Who, after twenty-five years, wants Roland to be a Daddy to him. And he'll stop at nothing to get what he wants, and I mean nothing. The cover gives you some idea what extremes he will go to to get Roland to be his Daddy. The guy is a real sociopath.<br /><br />The story in and of itself isn't a bad story, but it's a perfect example of an author who has cranked out a story and put it up on the Kindle self-publishing platform before editing and proofreading his work, and that's where the story suffers. Typos, missing words... and the most lethal mistake an author can make, Clendening lost track of which character he was talking about. *SPOILER ALERT* Cory, Gloria's son, has just killed Rosemary, Roland's wife. Being a good kid, Cory cleans up the mess before leaving Roland to think about what he has done. Yes, Cory thinks Daddy is responsible for Rosemary's death because all the old wrestler had to do was agree to spend some time with Cory, get to know him, be a father to him. If he had a greed to that, Rosemary would still be alive, but Roland had refused. Now, sitting alone, he decides to get to the bottom of things and reached for the phone. "I hadn't spoken to Rosemary in twenty-five years..." Hello? Rosemary is dead. Your son just blew her brains all over the sewing room. If you want to talk to her, you'd do better picking up a Ouija board than the phone. Clendening doesn't catch his mistake until the next scene, so during the entire phone conversation with Gloria, he's talking to Rosemary.<br /><br />The ending itself is interesting, as the conversation with "Rosemary" reveals something that throws Roland for a loop. The thing is, you have the reveal, then nothing. It ends, and it leaves you wondering... What? How?<br /><br />Had the story been cleaner, more polished, it would have been a decent read, but as it stands now, it's an embarrassment to the author and I would seriously recommend he unpublish it, polish it up, then re-post it. Until that time, this is one you should pass on.<br /><br /><br />Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-8754391734618697872013-05-25T21:55:00.001-07:002013-05-25T21:55:50.996-07:00SOLE SURVIVOR<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6ZTv5MH27Qk/UaGGfMLHeHI/AAAAAAAAAsw/wFVsYpxCOCQ/s1600/PiedPiper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6ZTv5MH27Qk/UaGGfMLHeHI/AAAAAAAAAsw/wFVsYpxCOCQ/s320/PiedPiper.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>For those who follow my reviews, you know I have a new-found love for all things zombie; however, I find my interest in the walking dead waning fast, thanks in part to the flood of zombie fiction that has flooded the market. So much of it is poorly written, cranked out with the hopes of cashing in on the current literary trend. Because of this, I went into <i>Pied Piper of the Undead</i> with the lowest expectations imaginable. Thankfully, they were not met.<br /><br /><i>Pied Piper of the Undead</i> tells the story of a 13-year-old survivor of the Zombie Apocalypse. As far as Peter knows, he is the only living person in his hometown. This would be hard for anybody, but for a child, it could be particularly devastating. Put yourself in the child's position—while on a scavenging run you encounter people you used to know, people you can put a name to, people you ran into on a daily basis, maybe said hello to, and now they want to eat you. Your best friend, the girl at school every guy wanted to be with, the school lunch lady, and yes, even your parents. This is what Peter has to endure on a daily basis. When we encounter a zombie, we see it through the boy's eyes, and unlike like so much zombie fiction, they aren't The Monster, The Zombie, or The Biter, or whatever naming convention that author has assigned to his walking dead. Whetzel has chosen to assign every zombie a name, a former occupation, which is what makes <i>Pied Piper of the Undead</i> so emotionally jarring. It's almost as if Peter hasn't fully grasped the fact that these things are no longer the people he used to know. On one level he does, as is evidenced by the fact that he stays above ground level whenever possible, choosing to live on the platform of an elevated water tower, but on another level he seems to be in denial of those whole situation. This is particularly evident when he encounters his best friend and his parents. If you have a heart, these scenes might very well bring tears to your eyes.<br /><br />Again, if you follow my reviews, you're waiting for the "But...", and there isn't one. Some aspects of the story might have some readers rolling their eyes, like how Peter knows to stay off the streets and how he successfully manages to get around town, but given the boy's fascination with hand-held video games, it doesn't come as any surprise that he has figured this out. As far-fetched as it might seem, it seems perfectly logical within the confines of the story, and something I didn't even bat an eye at. It just shows the ingenuity of a child and the extent to which his imagination can stretch in order to survive.<br /><br />Given the nature of the story, I can't really say too much about it without giving anything away. Suffice it to say, I enjoyed the story immensely and... Oh wait... I lied. There is a "but", one problem that I had with the novella that could easily be rectified if the author sees fit to humor this reader and correct the problem.<br /><br />The one problem I had with <i>Pied Piper of the Undead</i> is the ending. While satisfactory, it does leave you hanging, and this reader wants more, so I can only hope Mr. Whetzel decides to continue the story. Other than that, no other issues. Surprising, huh? I would suggest, however, that the author clean up the language a little. Not that I'm a prude or anything, I just feel that by doing so he would make it more appropriate for a YA audience. Should he do that, and extend the story to novel length, he just might give Maberry's Rot &amp; Ruin a run for its money. <i>Pied Piper of the Undead</i> is <i>that</i> good. Highly recommended.Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-65203104273036176582013-02-01T00:18:00.000-08:002013-02-01T00:18:50.226-08:00Attack of the ??? I Have No Idea<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PqhmuqwQADc/UQtbg_j_tFI/AAAAAAAAApM/nW-9SwytSk4/s1600/Bloop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PqhmuqwQADc/UQtbg_j_tFI/AAAAAAAAApM/nW-9SwytSk4/s320/Bloop.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>If you're a Bigfoot fan, then you are probably familiar with Eric S. Brown, author of the <i>Bigfoot War</i> series. He's written other books outside of the Bigfoot series, but I haven't read them. Some of them are cross-genre horror/westerns, and I'm not a fan of westerns (I'll get to them eventually, but they aren't high on my list), and others are zombies (I'll get to those, too—they're a little higher on the list), and now it seems he's branching out with novelizations of screenplays [Boggy Creek: The Legend is True (for my review, see&nbsp;http://www.wooferslair.blogspot.com/2013/01/theres-something-out-there.html)]. <i>Bloop</i>&nbsp;promises to be one of the latter, although is says "screen story" on the cover, which to me means it's in the works. After having read <i>Bloop</i>, I can only hope the film never sees the light of day. Then again, maybe it will be a rare instance where the movie is better than the book.<br /><br /><i>Bloop</i> starts off with a group of Charlie's Angels-type mercenaries, The Sisterhood of Saint Tommy Gun (yes, I did roll my eyes at that), taking on a marauding pack of yetis. If you're familiar with the Bigfoot series, you'd expect all of these little girls to be slaughtered by the yetis, but that isn't the case. The Sisterhood wins the day, without a single broken nail or a hair out of place. Oh, and no casualties. I guess the yetis aren't as formidable as the American cousins. Battle won, the Sisterhood just disappears. Who were these masked women? We want to know more about them, but alas, the story jumps elsewhere.<br /><br />Where does it jump, you ask? To the middle of the ocean, where a yacht is about to be attacked by some sort of sea monster. What kind of sea monster? We don't know. The extent of the description is that it's serpentine, has armor-like scales, and sharp teeth. Oh, and it's hungry. We learn this because no one on board the yacht survives. Really? Even Godzilla had one survivor. How else did we come to learn about the giant lizard that ate Tokyo (actually, NYC comes to mind—yes, I'm thinking about that "God-awful" Matthew Broderick film, which isn't really all that bad if you don't think of it as "Godzilla", but I digress).<br /><br />The scene jumps again (I'm beginning to get a little dizzy with all this globe-trotting jumping around), this time to a college campus, where a bored professor is slurping his cold coffee while he lulls his students to sleep. Said professor is the leading authority in the hazards of environmental corruption on the natural world (we knew he had to show up sometime). An associate interrupts his class (how dare she!) to let him know the military is waiting for him (déjà vu here, folks). What could they want with him? Duh! Obviously he doesn't read the news. Oh wait! Military coverup. Gotta keep this under wraps. Convenient that no one survived. Our hero learns about this creature, whatever it is, and then it becomes a race against time to destroy the big, bad monster before it attacks again. Do they? Well, no, but then again, do we, as the reader, care? Again, no. And yes, Charlie's Angels do make another appearance, if you care to know, but I'm not going to say anything else.<br /><br />Where do I begin? There's so much wrong with this book, I don't know where to begin, but I gotta start somewhere. One of the first things I noticed with Bloop is the narrative structure. We start off with a Prologue, but we never know where the Prologue ends. We have "****" to indicate a jump in the story, but we don't know where it actually starts. I was constantly on the look out for "Chapter One" or "1" or something to let me know, "Okay, folks, we're starting." That never happens, so the novella reads like one giant Prologue.<br /><br />The second thing I noticed was the manuscript the lack of editing/proofreading (if it was, Brown needs to fire the party(ies) involved and get someone new). Nowhere is it more obvious than with character names... Well, once character in particular—General Waltson. Or is it Walton? It changes constantly throughout the story. Brown refers to a ship named the "Author Curry", and Driscoll even smirks at the name, as if he's in on a secret no one else is privy to. Given Brown's love of comics, I believe he meant "Arthur Curry", aka Aquaman. Elsewhere in the book, a reporter slips past the MPs to ask our hero, "Why has the military but you in on this?"<br /><br />The story also suffers from a lack of detail. After having read it, I still have no idea what this creature looks like other than it's an armor-plated serpentine creature with sharp teeth. I have no idea how big it is, or what it is. Are we dealing with a genuine sea serpent? Given the environmental aspect introduced earlier with the introduction of Driscoll, are we dealing with a giant, mutated eel or sea snake? Or do we have a remnant of prehistoric times along the lines of Nessie and Champie? It's plausible, given Brown's previous works. I mean, after Bigfoot, why not tackle another legendary creature? had this been a short story, this is something I could forgive, but even then, the reader needs a little more to go on. Given that this is an attempt to take it longer than a short, but not quite achieving novel length, you need to give the reader more. In any movie that falls into this giant creature sub-genre, you always learn what the creature is and where it originated from. That's not so here.<br /><br />This same lack of detail carries over into the world Brown attempts to create. Not once could I envision where I was supposed to be, and that's something I can usually do when I read. And the characters? Who cares. They are cardboard cut-outs, stock characters typically found in this type of story. There's no character development, and no back story to breath life into them. We know nothing about them, so why should we care about what happens to them? Brown's main focus is story—this happened, then this happened, then this happened, and as a result, the story suffers. The structure of the story as it is currently written doesn't even provide the element of suspense.<br /><br />I know we're dealing with fiction here, so don't go jumping on my case for what I'm about to say, but where <i>Bloop</i> is concerned, there's no essence of reality. By that I mean the world has not become real for the reader. There are a couple of factors behind this. One is the lack of detail. The other is dialogue. If you've read Brown's work, you know he is not one to shy away from the gore aspect. Granted, it is not rendered as vividly as some authors tend to do, but it is there, so why is he so afraid of vulgarity? You will not find a single "fuck", "damn", or "hell" in his books, which in and of itself is not a bad thing, but there are times it's expected. Case and point, we're dealing with military men here in a combat situation, so when one of them blurts out, "What the frag do we do now?", you can't help but laugh. Frag? Really? Who the hell says "frag"? It totally knocks the reader out of the story, which in this case isn't too hard to do. If you don't want to use the "f" word or the "h" word, leave it as, "What do we do now?" That tends to be a little more realistic than using something like "frag".<br /><br />I feel part of the problem with <i>Bloop</i> lies in the fact that it is based on a "screen story", so Brown is probably adhering to the story as it was given to him, to the letter. He's not putting his own spin on it, adding insights to the novella (yes, folks, it's very short—this review is probably longer than the "book"), or adding any details. Had he approached this as an original work, I think we might have seen an entirely different story. &nbsp;Having read some of Brown's other works, I was hoping for so much more with <i>Bloop</i>, but what I got does not live up to what I know Brown can do. He failed to deliver here, so unfortunately, this is not one I can recommend. You'd do better to check out his <i>Bigfoot War</i> series.Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-76989305940426189012013-01-19T09:53:00.002-08:002013-01-19T09:54:06.171-08:00Don't Bother Checking In<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gQ_bS-cY4cc/UPrITlp6JMI/AAAAAAAAAnk/D7hRr9iNMs0/s1600/horrorhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gQ_bS-cY4cc/UPrITlp6JMI/AAAAAAAAAnk/D7hRr9iNMs0/s320/horrorhouse.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>It's been three years since the massacre at Death House. Now a New York firm owns the property and is attempting to re-open the luxurious house and someone ain't happy about it. That's right, folks. Everybody's cross-dressing master of mimicry, Benji, is back.<br /><br />Even if you've only seen one slasher film, you'll know what to expect from D'Allasandra's follow-up to <i>Death House</i>. That should be part of the fun—but it isn't; in fact, it's one of the reasons why this book fails. She (actually he, as Andrea D'Allasandra is actually Jery Tillotson) isn't concerned with character development because she knows she's only going to kill them off. Her only concern is to keep the story moving, but even that gets stale after awhile.<br /><br />The characters in <i>Horror House</i> are poorly developed stereotypes, all of which you hope get killed off soon just so you don't have to deal with them anymore. Take Scotty, for example. The only gay character in the book. A flamboyant ex-stripper/GoGo Boy trying to live the legitimate life because he's fallen in love with the nerdish professor, Charlie (who never makes an appearance), yet like <b style="font-style: italic;">ALL </b>(yes, I am being sarcastic here, so don't start sending me hate mail)&nbsp;gay men, he wants to screw every guy he sees and is constantly fantasizing about seducing Tyler, the straight, jock-type security guard. While the author tries to make him the likable comic relief, his over the top characterization makes the reader hope he's one of the first to go. One of the other problems with D'Allesandra's characters is that she pulls things out of thin air whenever it's convenient for that point in the story. Scotty thinks with his dick, but then all of a sudden he's got this soft spot for kids. Josie Jetson, a successful author of cookbooks who looks more like Honey Boo Boo's mother than Martha Stewart, is an abrasive, obnoxious bitch who hates everyone—but has a soft spot for kids. And why are kids their Achilles' Hell? Because Benji "adopts" an abused child, who then becomes a tool to catch his victims unaware. When you look at the entire cast of characters, there really isn't a likable one in the crowd, not even the sheriff, the only carry over from the first book. The "good guy" has been reduced to a conceited strip-o-gram cop who literally masturbates while watching himself perform in a home-made bisexual porn flick he made with another sheriff and the man's wife. Somebody give me a happy ending and shoot this guy—quickly.<br /><br />Since the characters aren't enough to keep you interested, you pray the story itself is enough to hold your interest, but unfortunately, it isn't. There's nothing new, nothing fresh, but you plod on hoping that one of the characters will be killed off in an interesting, unique manner. Don't hold your breath. Not even the writing is enough to keep the reader engaged because it is very poor. One has to wonder if D'Allesandra accidentally submitted a first draft instead of the polished, final version because&nbsp;<i>Horror House</i> suffers from the same thing so many other self-published books suffer from—poor or no editing. With clunky sentence structure and needless repetition, it becomes painful at times to read.<br /><br />I really wanted to like <i>Horror House</i>, but unfortunately I didn't, and I can't, in good conscience, recommend it. There are so many other self-published books out there you can spend your time with.<br /><br /><br /><br />Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-14097229537487497012013-01-10T22:13:00.000-08:002013-01-10T22:23:39.565-08:00There's Something Out There<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fSFtReW9K7g/UO9WIY_zCMI/AAAAAAAAAnE/M7z4BtcAF-Q/s1600/t600-boggycreek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fSFtReW9K7g/UO9WIY_zCMI/AAAAAAAAAnE/M7z4BtcAF-Q/s320/t600-boggycreek.jpg" width="243" /></a></div>I don't know what it is about Bigfoot, but I just can't get enough of the big oaf. When I was a kid, I remember watching the infamous Patterson-Gimlin video. I was going to be the one who found the irrefutable proof that Bigfoot existed. I said the same thing about the Yeti and the Loch Ness Monster, too. To this day, I still find the legend of Bigfoot fascinating, and yes, I watch <i>Finding Bigfoot</i>, I'm not ashamed to admit it.&nbsp;And that's why when Eric S. Brown comes out with a new book I'm usually one of the first ones to buy it. The man writes Bigfoot. Not the shy creatures hiding out in the woods that we've all heard about, but vicious, man-hating, man-eating terrors of the deep woods.<br /><br />This outing, Brown teams up with Jennifer Minar-Jaynes to give us&nbsp;<i>Boggy Creek, The Legend is True</i>, a novelization of a film by the same name, which I haven't seen yet — but it's on my list. Brown doesn't waste any time getting to the meat of the matter, so to speak. Boggy Creek opens with a rather nasty attack on a young couple parked in the woods. Casey Guthrie is savagely mauled and his girlfriend, Brittany, is among the missing. Missing? Yeah, Brown finally went <i>there </i>without actually going there. Seems that's the MO of these Bigfoot attacks — the men are killed, the women abducted. You do the math. Anyway, back to poor Casey. It's a powerhouse opening to a fun read.<br /><br />As it turns out, Casey and Brittany aren't the only victims of these random animal attacks. Yeah, you heard me. Seems the local sheriff knows what going on, but refuses to do anything about it because of some misguided sense of duty. It's his deputy, Mark Klein, who finally grows a pair and decides enough is enough. He and his redneck friends decided to hunt the beast down.<br /><br />Meanwhile, enter some would-be college freshmen. Jennifer Dupree and her friend, Maya, are headed to Boggy Creek for a little rest and relaxation. Jennifer is actually coming to lay the past to rest. Her fathered lived in Boggy Creek until he met his maker in a freak accident (or did he? We're never told what exactly happened to her old man). Unbeknownst to Jennifer, Maya has planned to make this a partying weekend, and thus the scene is set. Now the question becomes: Will Jennifer and friends survive their week in the wilds of Boggy Creek, or will they become meat for the beast?<br /><br />Let me start off by saying <i>Boggy Creek, The Legend is True</i> is not a great book, but it is well written (barring a few errors that I'll get to later), and it is fun. I mean, it's Bigfoot; what's not to like? Given the length of the novella (a mere 120 pages), it's perfect for a lazy Saturday afternoon in front of the fireplace. Notice I say afternoon. If you live in the city with not a tree in sight, feel free to curl up in bed at night, but if you, like me, live in or near a wooded area, it's best to read this during daylight hours. The scare factor isn't high, but the suspense is there. The authors have the ability to draw you into the story, so much so that you'll be jumping at those unexplained sounds outside. Is that really a branch scratching at the window, or something else?<br /><br />The cast of characters in <i>Boggy Creek, The Legend is True</i> is your typical slasher fare: creepy neighbor, gruff sheriff, inept deputy, partying coeds, and a host of cannon fodder. Regardless of their role, the authors treat them all with the same attention to detail, fleshing them out and making them real. They give that same attention to his scenic descriptions as well, fully realizing the locales, thereby making it so easy for the reader to lose him- or herself in the narrative.<br /><br />For all the pluses in this novella that make it a fun read, there are a few glaring errors that were enough to jolt me out of the story and had me flipping back to double check to see if I had misread something. In the very beginning — remember Casey and his girlfriend? — the couple is sitting in the front seat of his pickup. Yet a few paragraphs in, the monster leans into the car. Wait a minute? Didn't you just say they were in a pickup truck? OOPS! (Bad editor!) When Jennifer arrives in town, she and Maya pass a sign that says, "Boggy Creek, Texas. Population 406." Later on when the sign is passed, it reads, "Boggy Creak, Texas. Population 421." Whoa! Wait just a cotton pickin' minute! Was there a baby boom within the past 24 hours or so? And is the highway department that much on top of things that they were out there putting up a new sign so quickly? (Very bad editor!) And a little later on, when Jennifer meets the creepy neighbor, he says his name is Dustin Long, but two chapters later, during a flashback, he name is Dustin O'Brien. (Very, very bad editor!) Yeah, he may have given her an assumed name, but if he is supposed to be concerned for the girl's well-being, especially after what happened to his wife, why lie? More importantly, we aren't told that he lied. The average reader might not notice these things, but to me they were glaringly obvious and enough to break the flow of the story. There were a few other things that I can't recall at the moment, which means they weren't enough to knock me out of the narrative.<br /><br />The only drawback to the book is that the authors didn't give us a look at Bigfoot other than through the eyes of the characters. They put us in the creatures head when it is about to attack, but doesn't give us a peek at the "homestead". Are the ladies being dragged back to the lair in a Neanderthal-type manner only to be served up as a midnight snack? Or are they, as is insinuated within the text, being used as breeding stock? Inquiring minds want to know these things. Is there a "I had Bigfoot's baby" story in the future? One can only hope.<br /><br />All in all, though, I have to say that Eric S Brown and Jennifer Minar-Jaynes delivered a solid and enjoyable story, a must for Bigfoot fans. Highly recommended!<br /><br />Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-17661007569237007112013-01-03T22:25:00.000-08:002013-01-03T22:25:20.861-08:00WHO YOU GONNA CALL? GHOST TRACKERS!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-89xkr5peBBg/UOUXFm1LhHI/AAAAAAAAAmU/zIun9ZnxQRQ/s1600/51yAXnDVxrL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-89xkr5peBBg/UOUXFm1LhHI/AAAAAAAAAmU/zIun9ZnxQRQ/s320/51yAXnDVxrL.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>The first time I learned SyFy was airing a show called <i>Ghost Hunters</i>, I remember being so excited. I mean, as a kid, that's what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wanted to be the next Hans Holzer. I couldn't wait to see it. And half way through it, I remember thinking, <i>What a crock of shit! </i>I know, I know. It's SyFy. But still... So when I saw that Jason Hawes and Grant Wilson teamed up with Tim Waggoner (author of <i>Pandora Drive</i> and <i>Darkness Wakes</i>, the only Waggoner books I've read to date), to write what promises to be a supernatural series, I groaned. Literally. I know Tim can write, but what was he thinking teaming up with these jokers? Were they doing novelizations of their "cases"? If so, I figured they would be good for a laugh. I could already hear the dialogue in my head: <i>Did you see that?</i>, <i>What was that?</i>, <i>Did you hear that?</i>, with nothing manifesting. If you've ever seen their show, you'll know what I'm talking about. Curiosity got the better of me, so I investigated further and read the jacket copy — and it didn't sound bad at all. In fact, it kinda reminded me of my own teenage years when I wanted to go poking around the supposedly haunted houses in my neighborhood. So... Against my better judgement, I took the plunge and bought it.<br /><br />Fifteen years ago, three friends who shared an interest in the paranormal ventured into the infamous Lowry House. What happened while they were in there was so traumatic, they were robbed not only of their memories of that night, but also huge blocks of their high school memories. &nbsp;But whatever happened that night runs far deeper. Amber never fully recovered. She's plagued by nightmares, keeps herself heavily medicated, and can't seem to hold down a steady job. Drew, a psychologist, entered his chosen field with an ulterior motive — that somewhere along the way, while treating his patients, he would find the key to unlock his own lost memories. Trevor continues his pursuit of the paranormal with the hopes that a chance encounter will trigger the lock box in his mind and allow his memories to be rediscovered. That night in Lowry House, something else was lost as well, the chain that bound the three friends together. After that night, they drifted apart.<br /><br />One night, a voice from their past reaches out to Amber. A fellow misfit, Greg, calls her and invites her to attend their 15 year high school reunion. She's reluctant at first, but before she can talk herself out of it, she's reaching for the phone and reconnecting with her old friends, friends she hasn't spoken to since that night.<br /><br />From the moment they arrive, it's obvious that whatever entity traumatized them as teenagers isn't finished with them. Nothing overtly frightening, more like a cat playing with a mouse. Some of their memories start to filter back to them, but not nearly enough to prepare them for what's to come. Will they recover their memories in time, or will the evil of Lowry House, even though the house itself no longer stands, finish what it started 15 years ago?<br /><br />One of the problems you have when dealing with a book like this is you never know just how much the known author, in this case, Waggoner, had to do with it. Did he do a majority of the writing, or did the television personalities do the writing with the author only on hand to offer suggestions and help shape things up? &nbsp;Without knowing the answers to these questions, I went into <i>Ghost Trackers</i> not expecting much, and sometimes it's best going in with minimal expectations. This way I wouldn't be disappointed if it sucked too much, and I'd be pleasantly surprised if it turned out better than expected. I'm happy to say, I was pleasantly surprised, to the point where I did not want to put it down. I usually go to bed between 3 and 4 am, and some nights (mornings?) the sun was starting to shine through my bedroom window and I was still reading. I had to force myself to put it aside so I could get a couple of hours sleep before starting work for the day.<br /><br />The story flowed evenly and at a rapid pace, and I couldn't help but be swept up in the events as they unraveled, even if, at times, it felt like I was watching one of those cheesy SyFy Original Feature Films. The Biology Lab scene actually had me chuckling because I was having mental flashes of <i>Haunted High</i>. If you've seen it, you'll know what I'm talking about. The characters, for the most part, are fully fleshed out, believable, and likable. The only thing that didn't sit well with me was the ending; it was a little too sentimental, almost as if the book was being targeted for a Young Adult audience. I even had an "Awwww" moment — for the BIG BAD GHOST!! And while plausible for the novel, the ending came across as a little too contrived. Another "Awwwwwwwww" moment here.<br /><br />Problematic ending aside, I enjoyed <i>Ghost Trackers</i> and intend to read the next in the series. If you enjoy genuinely creepy ghost stories, I would highly recommend picking up this one.<br /><br /><br />Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-26608344151001121942012-08-18T18:41:00.003-07:002012-08-18T18:47:32.632-07:00IT'S ELECTRIFYING<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CBXuLVNW22Y/UDAMcuQPwiI/AAAAAAAAAk0/G2NMXexWXu4/s1600/Machines+of+the+dead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CBXuLVNW22Y/UDAMcuQPwiI/AAAAAAAAAk0/G2NMXexWXu4/s320/Machines+of+the+dead.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>As I continue my search for the ultimate zombie novel, I heard that David Bernstein's debut novel, Machines of the Dead, was a zombie novel unlike any that I've ever read before. That piqued my curiosity and I knew I had to check it out. Having read some of Bernstein's short stories, I knew the guy could write, so that wasn't an issue. The burning questions were, could he carry a novel (I've read many authors who write great short stories, but they fail miserably at novel-length tales) and what could be bring to the zombie genre that I hadn't read before?<br /><br />The book opens deep beneath the streets of New York City, where, unbeknownst to the city's residents, Top Secret Government experiments are being carried out on the city's homeless population. The subjects are being injected with microscopic nanobots that are supposed to accelerate the body's natural healing processes. While the experiments are successful in that the body suddenly has the power to not only heal itself of minor wounds, but to regenerate lost limbs. Medical miracle? Decidedly so, if it wasn't for the side effects. It seems that in order to carry out the functions for which they were designed, the nanobots consume an awful lot of the body's energy, which creates in the subject an insatiable need to feed, and if that need is not sated, the nanobots will start to consume the host in order to obtain that energy. Even if the host dies, the nanobots continue to animate the dead tissue, driving it to devour living organisms in order to obtain the energy it needs. Under the experimental conditions, before things can progress to this point, the "infected" is subjected to a 50,000 volt taser blast, which effectively kills off the nanobots.<br /><br />It would seem that they have everything under control—until one of their infected subjects manages to escape. Driven by this insatiable hunger, he attacks and bites the first person he sees, a young woman by the name of Jess. The fear of being returned to the underground lab outweighs the need to feed, and out man is on the run, leaving in his path one bitten body after another. It is only then, when Jess takes ill, dies, and comes back, that we learn that these nanobots are living organisms with the ability to reproduce, and they can be transferred from host to host. With the hopes of containing the outbreak, Jess and her husband are "kidnapped" and taken below ground. It's too late for her, but they are able to save Jack. But saving Jack was not done out of the goodness of their hearts, an attempt to atone for their sins. Something more sinister is at work here. Will Jack fall victim to the government scientists, or will he be able to, with the help of his new-found allies, escape the underground labs into a city gone to hell, a city where the dead outnumber the living?<br /><br />When I first started <i>Machines of the Dead</i>, I thought I was going to be in for some trouble. I tend to be a purist where my monsters are concerned—werewolves are half-man/half-animal killing machines, NOT men who turn into oversized wolves; vampires are undead creatures of the night that prey on humans to survive, not romanticized objects of affection that want to date us, NOT eat us; and zombie are reanimated corpses with a hunger for brains and human flesh—so to attempt to blend horror with Science Fiction (a genre I avoid due to the tendency to get overly technical), I admit to having some reservations. The origin of the zombie in horror fiction has always been ambiguous—radiation caused by an asteroid passing too close to the earth; God's punishment on the sinners; medical experiments gone awry; Haitian servants run amuck; alien possession. There has never been a definitive cause for the zombie outbreak; theories, yes, but never, in my limited exposure to zombie fiction, has there been one true cause of the outbreak. Usually it's the "Why is this happening?", with no one around to supply the answer. So when the cause of the outbreak was spelled out so clearly as being purely scientific and not supernatural, I wasn't sure how I felt about it. I'm still not sure. What I do know is that I enjoyed the book immensely.<br /><br />Part of the success, I feel, is the author's refusal to get bogged down in the scientific aspect of the novel and focus more on the horror elements, that being the zombies. He explains what the nanobots are and what they are supposed to do without going into all the details as to how they do what they do. Other—and I don't want to say more experienced authors, but that is the first phrase that comes to mind, so I'm going with it—more experienced authors might attempt to go into the scientific details as to how the nanobots worked, and if that had been done, Bernstein would have lost me as a reader.<br /><br />In addition to focusing on the zombies, Bernstein also focuses on character development, even those minor characters who, because of the attention that's been given to them, are killed off, much to the surprise of the reader because it seemed as if they were being groomed for a larger role. It was reminiscent of the discussion they had on <i>The Talking Dead</i>, the discussion panel that airs following showings of <i>The Walking Dead</i>, when they warned the viewers not to get too attached to any of the characters because any and all were in danger of being killed off. That helps to create a sense of urgency as you read, and you find yourself sitting on the edge of your seat hoping that certain characters are going to make it through to the end. And then there are characters who are supposed to be the good guys that you take an immediate disliking to and you hope they get killed off some time soon.<br /><br />As much as I enjoyed the book, it is not without its flaws, the biggest is the tendency to repeat certain bits of information that were recently revealed in detail. One example that jumps to mind is when the reader is being given Zaun's backstory—and maybe the reason this example comes so quickly to mind is because I can't stand the character of Zaun and any flaws I find might tend to be magnified. The author has just finished giving us a complete inventory of the types of martial arts Zaun has been schooled in, and a page or two later, it's mentioned again. In detail. It's almost as if Bernstein didn't trust the reader enough to remember what was previously spelled out. There were a couple of other minor elements that stood out for me like a sore thumb, and it's something that needs the be shared equally between author and publisher, but I place most of the blame on the publisher. I'm not going to spell it out here because the average reader probably won't even notice it, but it's something I did bring to the author's attention.<br /><br />The other issue I had was the lack of zombie action. It's there, but I wanted more. Granted, this is the first book in a proposed trilogy, so I'm willing to forego it at the moment. The central focus of this first novel was to create the apocalyptic background against which the book is set and and to introduce us to the characters.<br /><br />&nbsp;Overall, I feel Bernstein did an excellent job of blending the genres of horror and SciFi. The pacing &nbsp;of the book, for the most part, is swift and fluid, like a rapidly moving river, but there are parts where is does grind to a halt as we are fed a character's (read Zaun) backstory. Again, maybe I'm harping on this because of who the character is, but I feel releasing bits of the characters past in bits and pieces would have helped improve the flow instead of feeding it to us in one fell swoop. I have a feeling, though, that we won't have this issue in the second installment, as the main characters have already been introduced.<br /><br />The bottom line: Is it worth reading? Most definitely. In a market that is quickly becoming over-saturated with zombie novels, <i>Machines of the Dead</i> offers a refreshing new look into the cause of the outbreak, and as innovative as it is, you won't see any running zombies here... and that's a good thing. So go ahead and pick it up. You won't be disappointed. Then again, maybe you will, as the book does leave you hanging in the end, and you'll be chomping at the bit for Book 2, which isn't available yet. You've been warned.Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-78351396210623479932012-08-02T17:57:00.002-07:002012-08-02T17:57:08.504-07:00It's Been A WhileHey guys and gals! It's been some time since I posted my reviews on a regular basis and I apologize for that. My mother passed away in January after a prolonged illness and it sorta knocked the wind out of my sails. After taking care of her for six years, I felt kind of lost, without purpose, and it's taken me a while to bounce back. Not 100% there yet, but getting there, and I'm hoping to start posting reviews again on a regular (or semi-regular basis). Thanks for hanging in there with me.Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-4442805357315931142012-05-01T19:33:00.002-07:002012-05-01T19:33:56.747-07:00Vegetarians Beware!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-53xE9yWr4GU/T6CavX_B_9I/AAAAAAAAAhw/qWEGT02P3ic/s1600/LoverGarden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-53xE9yWr4GU/T6CavX_B_9I/AAAAAAAAAhw/qWEGT02P3ic/s320/LoverGarden.jpg" width="189" /></a></div><br /><br />When choosing something to read, sometimes I look for something short. Nothing too involving, just something I can tackle in one sitting. I saw Erik Gustafson's <i>My Garden, My Lover</i> being promoted in one of the Facebook groups I belong to that is devoted to self-published authors. Since the dawn of the Agency Pricing Model, I have found myself reading more and more self-published authors simply because of the price. Sure, most of it is schlock, but there are some rare gems. And then there are those like Gustafson, who, to me, is a diamond in the rough. With a little polish, I can see him going far.<br /><br />With that said, let me start by saying this was the first time reading anything by Gustafson, and I admit to being pleasantly surprised, while at the same time being disappointed with <i>My Lover, My Garden</i>. The premise was a bit over the top, which didn't bother me. It's somewhat simple -- an socially inept man finds a passion for life in the gardening skills he honed under the tutorial of an estranged uncle. When the uncle dies and leaves everything to his favorite nephew, the man's passion soon becomes an obsession, and rapidly moves on to his sole purpose for being. He gives up everything so he can devote every waking hour to the his one true love.<br /><br />When the younger brother turns 18, he, like most children, seeks to escape the prison that is his parents' home, and with nowhere to go, he turns to his brother. He quickly finds out just how far gone his brother really is, and when he seeks to "rescue" the older man from his own life, the garden, like a jealous lover, rises up and seeks to destroy the threat. As far-fetched as this might seem, I found myself caught up in the story, which in and of itself would warrant 3 or more stars if I was assigning Star Ratings, so why only 2 stars? The book is an e-book, so I was basing how far I had to go based on my "percentage". Just past what I thought was the halfway point (about 60%), the story takes an incredulous turn, and I was left with an uneasy feeling that the author had grown tired of the story and and wanted to wrap it up as quickly as possible. But still I pushed on, figuring I still had another 40% to go for a satisfactory resolution, but then at around 63%, the story was done. The balance of "book" is devoted to promoting the author's new novel, which, by the way, I didn't read. I never read sample chapters that appear at the back of books, but that's just me.<br /><br />Will I risk reading something else by this author? Yes, I'll take a chance because he was able to involve me in what I was reading. Would I recommend this particular work? Sure. It's short and can be finished in one sitting, but just be prepared for an unsatisfactory wrap up.<br />Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-17289870219657674712012-01-09T08:51:00.000-08:002012-01-09T09:49:59.244-08:00Excerpt of WIP -- First Draft<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">The week leading up to the day of the funeral had been a blur, thanks in part to the injections that Doctor Mark had been supplying to the family on a regular basis. It was only a mild sedative, and he did it with the best intentions, but when the effects wore off, Greg was an inconsolable mess. He had taken to drinking, and Ro-Anne, thanks to the unexplainable access to Christy’s memories, couldn’t remember him ever drinking to the extent that he was now. A beer or two now and again, but that was it. When he had more than two beers, his ugly side would begin to show, so he had learned to keep his alcohol intake to a minimum. The harder stuff, which is what he had been consuming, didn’t bring out his darker side; if anything, it had the opposite effect. He became a self-pitying retch, and it was pathetic to watch. Seeing him in that condition made it hard for Ro-Anne to keep her goal in mind. The same held true for his friends. The love and support they showed the entire family in their time of need was touching. She had to focus on the past to keep the fire inside her raging; otherwise, she might be tempted to abandon her cause. She could not allow that to happen. She must not let that happen. They had to pay.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> During the week, when she wasn’t under the influence of Doctor Mark’s sedative, she had had time to think about the recent turn of events within herself. She had come to the conclusion that by successfully doing away with the Other, she had absorbed the girl’s essence, thereby absorbing her memories, making them as accessible to her as her own. She was able to recall events of the girl’s life that she normally would have had to coerce out of the Other. There could be no other reason for it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> There had also been times during the week that she thought she saw the spirit of the woman in the house. It surprised her at first, but she realized she shouldn’t have been surprised. Just as she had hung around because of unfinished business, Christy’s mother might be doing the same. It had never occurred to her until she caught a flicker of something that the woman might be out for revenge, just as she herself was seeking revenge. The only thing she was banking on, if that was the case, is that the woman wouldn’t be able to bring herself to act against her own daughter, no matter what the girl had done. She was also hoping that it would be awhile before the woman came into her own as a spirit. Ro-Anne had known immediately that she had died, but it had taken her awhile to learn that there were things she could do in her spectral form. If the woman was a fast learner, there might be problems. She wasn’t counting on it though; in life, the woman didn’t come across as being all that swift.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> Now that the funeral was over and everybody had gone home, Ro-Anne found herself alone with Jeff and Greg. She marveled at Jeff’s strength. He mourned the loss of his mother, but his attachment seemed to be to his father. He was attentive to his father’s needs and was quick to tend to them when Mark wasn’t around. Given the amount of scotch Greg had consumed after the funeral, Mark didn’t want to administer the sedative, but he did leave some with Jeff and showed him how it was to be given should he feel his father needed it. Together they had gotten Greg up to bed and undressed. Mark had checked in with her to make sure she was okay, then he had taken his leave, promising to call later in the evening. The week had taken its toll on Jeff, but he had stayed strong. He had been checking on her earlier in the week, but seeing that she was managing to stay strong herself, he had devoted his time to Greg. He had seemed genuinely concerned for her because she was supposed to have been closer to their mother than he was, but the death of their mother coming so close on the heels of her own near death experience was the explanation given for her not grieving as strongly as they had expected. After Jeff and Mark put Greg to bed and Mark left, Jeff had checked on her before taking himself to bed. She suspected that he’d been taking hits of the bottle himself during the course of the day, but it wasn’t enough to be obvious, just enough to keep himself loose. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> Knowing they would both sleep the night away, she needed to move things along with her own plans. She had lost valuable time this week, and she found as time went by, it was getting harder and harder to hold on to her rage towards these men. More than once she wondered who had consumed who on the day she fought with the other. She was feeling more and more of the Other in her own thoughts and she wondered if maybe she hadn’t lost the battle after all; she still had her own thoughts and memories, which she used to bank the fires, but it was taking more and more energy to keep the fire alive. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> She stood in the doorway to her parents’ bedroom. Greg lay on his stomach. He must have been tossing in his alcohol-induced sleep because the blankets covering him had shifted and his bare ass was exposed. Her first impulse was to go in and cover him, but then she realized that was the Other thinking. She reached back into her past and could see those buttocks rising and falling as he thrust into her. He had been the first, and the pain of his brutal first thrust into her had been like a hot spike impaling her. She had screamed, begging him to stop, but he had only looked into her eyes and laughed. He had been the first to have his way with her, but he would be the last to go. Thinking of what he had done then, and what he was doing now, upholding the law as the sheriff of this shit-hole town sickened her. The hypocrisy of it did not escape her, and now, thinking about it, she couldn’t wait until she saw the fear in his eyes as her realized the crimes of his past were back to haunt him. She wanted them all to know.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> But couldn’t people redeem themselves?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> No. She forced that foreign thought deep into the dark recesses of her mind. That was the Other talking, and she wouldn’t allow It to sway her from her chosen path. She turned away from Greg’s unconscious form. She still hadn’t buried the pillowcase she left in the clearing, and she realized now she was glad she hadn’t. She would need the gun to carry out some of her plans. She would take care of that tomorrow. She had other things that needed to be done first, but she would need to be careful.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> Returning to her room, she took the cash she had kept. Many times during the week she had wondered what she would spend it on. It couldn’t be anything too obvious because that was raise some questions as to where she got the money from, but the more she thought about it, she knew she would use the money to help further her plans. This way there would be nothing in the house to arouse suspicion, and the blood money would be aptly used to spill more blood. She booted up her laptop and got online and did a search for adult bookstores in the area. She didn’t want anything too close to home, so she decided on one that boasted twenty-four hour operation in Boston. She wrote down the address, shoved it in her pockets, then grabbed the car keys. Greg had handed her the keys a couple of days ago saying that since she had her license she may as well make use of the car. Better she make use of it than trying to sell it when she would only be looking for her own car in a couple of years anyway. She wasn’t supposed to leave town with the car unless he was with her, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. She ran up the stairs for one more quick pit stop before heading out.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> She returned to town three hours later with a couple of bags full of props. When she had walked into the bookstore, the clerk had eyed her suspiciously, and she was all set to be given a hard time over her purchases, but the clerk, on seeing how much she was spending, didn’t bat an eye. When she left, she made one more stop at a hardware store and picked up some rope and some industrial strength latex gloves before heading back to town.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> By the time she got back to town, it was dark. She pulled the car into the parking lot of an all-night diner. She grabbed the gloves out of the shopping bag and slipped them into her purse before getting out of the car. Across the street was a twenty-four hour self-service laundry mat. The lights were on, but the place appeared to be empty. She could see that a few of the machines were on, so she figured the people were in the diner. Diagonally across the street was a gas station. It was closed for the night, but the red neon sign in the window remained lit, the reflection of the light on the pavement looking like pooled blood. In all directions, the streets were deserted, which was good. There were lights on in some of the houses, and she longed to be with her family. Not Greg and Jeff, but her real family, the one she never had. The husband and children that those men robbed from her on that night. The longing only served to fan the flames. With a firm resolve, she locked up the car and started toward her destination.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> The street she was walking along was lined with trees, the branches thick with summer foliage that blocked out the glow of the street lamps. She was like a shadow among shadows as she made her way up the street. She traveled about half a mile along the darkened alleyway of trees before reaching her destination. The church was dark except for flickering votive candles that illumunated the stained glass with a soft glow. Next door to the church the rectory stood. On the first floor light flooded out from one window on the right side of the house. On the other side, there was a faint radiance, as if the light from the other room was casting its glow across the hall to dispel the darkness gathered there.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> Without hesitation, she started for the rectory, climbing the two steps up the porch. There was no straying from the path she was on she reminded herself as she rang the doorbell. While she waited for Father Ritchie to answer the door, she mentally rehearsed what she was going to say. The curtain to the side of the door move and she saw the priest look out. He was quick to open the door when he saw who it was.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “Christina,” he greeted her as he held the door open for her. “It’s so late. What brings you here at this hour?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “I needed to get out of the house,” she said as she slipped past him. Of all the others, he was the one she feared the least. Despite what he had done to her all those years ago, she knew she held no interest for him any more. At the time, she couldn’t understand the nervousness he displayed whenever he was around women; after all, he was a handsome man. Now, though, since he had been around the house for most of the week, she understood all too well what prompted the nervousness. She saw it in the way he looked at the other men, how he looked at Jeff. There was a hunger in his eyes, the same kind of hunger that was reflected in the eyes of the guys as they took their turn with her. Lust. Pure, unadulterated lust. The man was a homo. No wonder he became a priest. She wondered if he really kept his vow of chastity, or were there a bunch of altar boys that he diddled on a regular basis? Or maybe there were frequent trips to that bookstore in Boston. Whatever he was now, it did not excuse him for the things he had done. It was time to atone for his sins.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> She turned to him as he closed the door. “It’s okay that I came her, right?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “Of course, my child.” He escorted her into the living room. “Does you father know you’re here?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> After she took a seat on the sofa, she said, “I left a note for him. Jeff was exhausted and went to bed after Doctor Mark left. Dad had a little too much to drink and fell asleep.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “Don’t judge your father, my dear. He’s been through quite an ordeal. You all have.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “I’m not judging him. I’m just saying.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> He took a seat in the recliner situated just to the side of the sofa so he could look at her comfortably as they talked. “You’ve surprised everybody this week.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> She looked at him with mild curiosity. “In what way?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “How well you’ve been holding up. Considering how close you and your mother were.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “I guess it hasn’t really hit me yet. Dad’s been a mess, and Jeff, well, Jeff’s young, and I need to be there for him. He’s been strong for dad, but he couldn’t carry it all on his shoulders. That wouldn’t have been right or fair.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “Well, if you need to let it out, you can. Nobody here will judge you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> She stiffened, looking around. “You have company?” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> He looked puzzled for a moment, then understood what she was implying. “No, not at all. We’re alone. I meant in the House of the Lord, nobody will be judge. The Lord only hands us what he knows we can handle, even if we don’t think we can. If only we had the kind of faith in ourselves that he has for us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> She relaxed some and settled back on the sofa.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “Can I get you something to drink?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> She nodded. “That would be nice. Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> He got up and started for the kitchen, when she asked, “Can I use the bathroom?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “Of course you can. Up the stairs, last door on the left.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> She relied on Christy’s memories to guide her. On the second floor landing, she used the bathroom, then crossed the hall and opened the door opposite the bathroom. A flight of stairs led up to the attic. As kids, she and Jeff used to play up there all the time after mass, when Greg and his wife came over for tea with Ritchie.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> In the kitchen, Ritchie tried calling Greg to let him know that his daughter arrived safely, but there was no answer. The answering machine didn’t even pick up, which meant they hadn’t cleared the messages all week, which was understandable. He seemed to remember Mark saying he turned the ringer off on the phones so they wouldn’t be disturbed. He took two glasses from the cupboard and an ice cube tray from the freezer. He cracked some ice into each of the glasses, then got two cans of Diet Pepsi from the fridge, He placed them unopened on a tray, added the glasses, and as an afterthought, he added a plate that he filled with cookies. He was just returning to the living room when he heard the toilet overhead flush.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> After setting the tray down on the coffee table, he took his seat and waited for Christy’s return. When she didn’t come back down after five minutes, he got up and went to the foot of the stairs. “Christina?” he called out so softly he doubted she could have heard him through the bathroom door. He placed one foot on the first step, his hand on the banister, and tried again, this time a little louder. “Christina, are you okay up there?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> When no response was forthcoming, he began to feel a little nervous. Had she passed out up there? Had the stress of the past week’s events finally overcome her and she collapsed? He bolstered his courage and went up the stairs, going straight for the bathroom door. He knocked softly on the door. “Christina? Are you okay?” He had his ear pressed to the door trying to hear if she was muffling her sobs, but all was silent within. “I’m coming in,” he said, grasping the doorknob. He twisted and pushed the door open. The lights were out in the small tiled room so he flicked them on to find the room empty.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> He turned, wondering where she could have gone, and noticed the door to the attic. The light wasn’t on, but that didn’t mean anything. It was entirely possible that the bulb blew out, that’s how often he went up there. He glanced down the hall to his bedroom door, which was closed, just the way he left it, so he could only assume the girl went up to the attic. But why?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> Fear suddenly clawed at his stomach when he thought of one possibility as to why she went up there. Overwhelmed with grief, he wondered if the girl felt comfortable enough her to commit suicide. She and her mother had had a very close relationship, and in the entire week, with the exception of that first day, he had not seen Christina cry once. It wasn’t good for anybody to hold in that kind of grief. Convinced that that was the only reason she could have for venturing up into the attic, he raced across the floor and through the doorway. He took the steps one at a time, going more slowly in the darkness that he wanted to. He needed to stop the girl before it was too late. He stumbled once on the stairs but managed to stay upright, and finally gained the landing. “Christina?” There was no reply and he hoped he wasn’t too late.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> There was no light switch at the foot of the stairs, something he had complained to the parish about on numerous occasions, but they claimed it wasn’t in the budget to have any wiring redone, so he had to make do with the bare bulb and draw string that hung suspended in the middle of the room. He made his way towards the center of the floor, shuffling along in case he should stumble into something. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> He was halfway to his target when the attic was suddenly filled with light, temporarily blinding him. There was the sound of footsteps as somebody moved rapidly across the floor, going around and coming up behind him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “Keep going.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> He jumped at the sound of the girl’s voice. He felt something hard press into the small of his back, and a little shove that forced him to stumble forward. He continued until he stood under the light fixture before turning around. Christina stood at the head of the stairs, and it took his mind a moment to register that she held a gun on him. “What’s going on, Christina? What’s this all about?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> She ignored the question. “Strip, Father.” Her voice was cold, and he could practically taste the venom with which she said the word “Father,” like it was something vile that she needed to get out of her mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “Christina. . .”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “Stop calling me that,” she demanded.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “Christy. . .”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “Not that either.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “What. . .”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “I said, Strip.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> He didn’t know what was going on, but she had a gun. He didn’t think she had the nerve to use it, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. There was something not right with the girl, and considering everything she had been through in the past few weeks – moving, the loss of her mother, her own near-death experience – it was entirely possible that her mind had snapped. He’d had crisis management training, but never at gun point, and he clung to the hope that he would be able to talk her down from whatever emotional roller coaster she was on. Without waiting to be told a third time, he started to take off his clothes.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> As he undressed, he felt the need to keep her talking. He couldn’t understand her refusal to acknowledge her given name, but that wasn’t the important thing at the moment. He wanted to know her intentions, as she came into his home and was holding him at gunpoint. “I know you’re upset by what’s happened, but that’s. . .”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “You have no clue, <i>Father</i>. Upset doesn’t even begin to cover it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> Again, there was that bitterness. After all that had happened, had she lost her Faith in God? Was she taking out her anger and frustration on him because he was God’s representative here on Earth? “Christina. . .”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “I told you not to call me that!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> He had his shirt off and had just slipped off his shoes. “You don’t have to do this. You. . .”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “Stop talking. Don’t talk. Just get your clothes off.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> He was about to say something else, but thought better of it. In silence, he removed his trousers and stood there before her in his socks, underwear, and t-shirt. A flush colored his cheeks, and he didn’t know if it was from nerves or embarrassment. Crossing his hands in front of his crotch, he bowed his head, admitting defeat. He would accept whatever humiliation she dished out if it would make her feel better and start her on the road to emotional recovery. Of course, he was thinking rape, and he hoped his inability to perform with her wouldn’t anger her further. There was no telling what she would do if he couldn’t do what she wanted. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">"Don't stop there," she commanded. "Keep going. All of it. Off."</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> He slipped off his socks. The floorboards beneath his bare feet were cold, and they sent shivers coursing over his body. He slipped his t-shirt over his head and tossed it with the rest of his clothes. There was a moment’s hesitation when he went for his underwear when he caste a look towards Christy, pleading with his eyes. She gave a wave with the barrel of the gun, indicating that he should keep going. The underwear went, and he stood there, in all his glory, hands clasped in from of him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “Move over there,” she said, indicating a support beam a couple of yards away. He inched over to it, not wanting her to be startled by any sudden moves. He wasn’t sure how comfortable she was with a gun, and the last thing he wanted or needed was to have it go off by accident. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> When he was in front of the beam, she took a step closer. “Put your arms around the beam.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> He stepped behind it and then wrapped his arms around it, hugging it tightly. He could feel the rough texture of the raw wood against his bare skin. He watched as she took something from her purse. Whatever it was gleamed in the overhead light. She held them out to him, and when she did, he saw it was a pair of handcuffs. “Put these on,” she told him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> Reluctantly, he did as he was told.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> Once he was secured, she walked around him, sizing him up like a prized cattle being put up for auction. When she pressed the cold steel barrel of the gun against his flesh, he inhaled sharply and held his breath. She rubbed it up and down his left side, across his shoulder blades, and down his spine. When he felt her slide it lower, coming to rest just above his buttocks, he closed his eyes and started to pray silently. He felt the gun slip between his ass cheeks, felt her body press against his, and she whispered in his ear, “Bang.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> Then the pressure was gone and he slowly let out the breath he’d been holding. A startled shriek broke from his lips when she playfully smacked him on the ass. She laughed, and if there was any other sign that he needed that he was in deep shit, that was it. Her footsteps echoed on the floorboards, and she came into view. She was still fully dressed, still held the gun, although it was at her side for the moment, and not aimed at him. She wasn’t looking at him, either; she was looking down, her hair hiding her face like a curtain. He didn’t dare say a word for fear he would anger her again. There was no telling how much was needed to push her over the edge of toying with him to scare him to death and actually placing the barrel up his ass and pulling the trigger. The girl was in need of psychiatric help, more help than he had been trained to handle in this crisis management training.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> When she finally looked up, she gave him a shy smile, and a ray of light showed through the gathering darkness. “Don’t go away,” she told him as she started for the stairs. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “You can’t leave me like this.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> That brief glimmer of hope shattered when she sent daggers his way. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” she growled at him. “Those days are over.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> She descended the stairs without a look back, leaving him to wait and worry.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> And think.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> That was the worst part, being left alone with his own thoughts. They ran wild trying to figure out what he had done to Greg’s daughter to deserve what she was doing to him, and for the life of him, he couldn’t think of anything. Instinctively, he pulled at the handcuffs, but he had closed them a little too much when he had put them on. He couldn’t slide his hands through. If he had something to lubricate his hands, they might slide through, but anything that could be used to grease his hands was either in his bedroom or in the kitchen. There might be something in the boxes, as most of what was stored up here was stuff he didn’t want prying eyes to see.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> The second thing to cross his mind was trivial, but it was something that made the waiting seem interminable. When he stripped, he should have taken his watch off along with everything else. Since it was still on, he was able to count down the seconds, the minutes that she was gone. He had no idea where she had gone to, although he had feeling she was no longer in the house. He thought he had heard the door slam shut. His only hope is that she forgot to leave the lock disengaged. She wouldn’t be able to get back into the house then, and he would only have to wait it out until ten o’clock the following morning when his housekeeper arrived. Yeah, it would be embarrassing to be discovered this way, but at least he would still be alive. It was better than the other option.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> She was gone about forty-five minutes. He heard the door slam shut again. She must have puttered around on the first floor, because it was about ten minutes later when he heard her coming up the stairs. But she didn’t come right up to the attic, which meant she was snooping around on the second floor. There were only two other rooms on the second floor besides the bathroom—his office and his bedroom. Neither place was appropriate for her to be snooping because although most of the private things were kept up here, there were things that he accessed on an almost daily basis that would not be suitable viewing for a young girl. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> Another fifteen minutes passed before he heard her coming up the attic stairs, and she was dragging something behind her. He could tell by the clunking thumping it made on the stairs. When she came into view, she held a couple of shopping bags in one hand, and behind her she dragged the heavy chair he kept at his desk in the office. She set the shopping bags down by the stairs, then dragged the chair across the floor. She was staring up at the ceiling, and she positioned the chair beneath a low-hanging structural crossbeam. He noticed there was something rolled up and stuck in the back pocket of her jeans. Once she was happy with the placement of the chair, she turned and looked at him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “Have you been a good boy while I’ve been gone?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> He nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> The smile she wore slipped, turning into a malicious grin that sent chills all over his body, like thousands of baby spiders crawling all over him. “I think not. In fact, I think you’ve been naughty.” She took out the rolled up object from her back pocket and unrolled it. He recognized it immediately, and it was suddenly like ice running through his veins. She wasn’t going to kill him; she was going to expose him, which was a fate worse than death. “Very naughty, indeed.” She started to flip through the pages of the porno magazine that showed young men, very young men, engaging in sexual acts with men old enough to be their fathers and grandfathers.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> His mouth was suddenly dry and he tried to work up a mouthful of spit so he could speak. “What. . .” His voice cracked. He swallowed against the dryness and it felt as if he were trying to swallow a cup full of cotton balls. “What are you going to do,” he was finally able to croak.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> She tossed the magazine at his feet. “I think you need to be punished, Ritchie.” She crossed the floor and took another magazine from the shopping bag. He recognized that one as well. The cover was curled he had looked at it some many times, and if she tried to open it, she would find that some of the pages were stuck together. My God, this was so embarrassing.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> She tossed that one on the floor as well. “And to think you had everything I needed already here. I didn’t have to buy any of this shit.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a couple more magazines, but these ones he didn’t recognize. She flipped through the pages of those ones as well, pausing a moment to admired the centerfold. “My, my. He is a big boy. But I think he’s a bit older than you like ‘em.” She showed him the picture he was looking at; the kid was young, over eighteen because of the publication’s modeling agreement, but looked younger, and he possessed a dick that would split a guy in two if he tried anything with it. She was right, though; while the guy looked young, he was older than he liked them. A lot older.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “And lookie what else I found, you bad boy.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of lubricant and a dildo, the battery operated kind that vibrated. He could tell by the hot flush on his face that he had turned scarlet. He watched with a growing sense of horror as she put that on the floor and reached into the shopping bag yet again. This time she pulled out a coiled length of rope. She sat down on the floor and proceeded to tie a noose. She was going to kill him after all <i>and</i> tarnish his reputation by leaving all this stuff around. There was no way he could let that happen. He had to try and talk her out of whatever she had planned.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “You don’t have to do this. I’ll pack my bags. I’ll leave town.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> She ignored him. To his horror, she started to whistle while she worked on the noose. When she was done, she got up and climbed up onto the chair, taking the rope with her, and tossed the noose over the beam. She looked around, trying to find some place to secure the other end of the rope. He knew what she was looking for and he prayed that she wouldn’t find anything. Her eye sight was better than his, because the next thing he knew she was off the chair and crossing the floor. On one of the support beams that ran floor to ceiling there was a mooring mount. He’d never noticed it before, but then again, he rarely spent more time than was absolutely necessary up here. After she secured the rope, she climbed back up onto the chair and tested the rope.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> Knowing that he was on step closer to death, he started to sweat. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> She jumped down from the chair and went to retrieve something else from the shopping bags. Her hand reached in and came out with the gun. Done with her preparations, she returned her attention to him as she reached deep into her jeans pocket. She produced the key to the handcuffs and showed it to him. “Now,” she said, as if instructing a child, “I’m going to give you the key. You are going to wait until I get back here where I’m standing now, then, and only then, are you going to open the cuffs and free yourself. Is that understood?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> He licked his lips and nodded. He wondered what his chances were of overpowering her before she could get a shot off.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> “Then you are going to put the key and the cuffs on the floor and you are going to climb up on that chair and put the noose around your neck. Is that clear?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> Again, he nodded. Fat chance, he thought.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> But once she handed him the key, he did exactly as she had instructed. With the noose securely around his neck, she approached the chair, then picked up one of the magazines from off the floor and handed it to him. “Now, I want you to jack off.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:11.0pt"> He shook his head slowly. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “No,” he somehow managed to say. He hated that his voice was trembling, betraying his fear, but what else could he do with a noose around is neck and a gun pointed at him. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">She shoved the barrel of the gun against his nut sac. “You wanna keep ‘em?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">He nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">“Then jack off. Jack off and we’ll all be happy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">She took a few steps back as he flipped open the magazine. Despite the terror that filled him, the sight of the glossy photo spread of the child and the older man forced his baser desires to override any thoughts of his impending death and he felt himself respond. His hand dropped down to his crotch and he took his hardening cock in hand. He tried not to look at Christy, but he couldn’t help it. While he stroked himself, his gaze flickered from the magazine to the girl holding the gun. She was smiling at him. “That’s right,” she said. “You like that, don’t you? Feels good, doesn’t it?” He couldn’t believe that she was encouraging him. She had said if he jerked himself off, they would all be happy. Was that all this was going to turn out to be? Some sick fetish on her part. He wouldn’t be surprised if she reached into her pants and started fingering herself, but she didn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">“You know,” she continued. “I see the way you look at Jeff. You’d like to do things with him, wouldn’t you? Things like they’re doing in that magazine.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">He glanced down, and in his minds’ eye he saw himself and her younger brother in place of the models, and he could feel his climax fast approaching. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">“I can make it happen. I can arrange for the two of you to be together so you can fuck him. Just like you fucked me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">Something in her words didn’t sound right, but he was too far gone in the fantasy to realize what it was. Just the thought of his forbidden desires becoming an actuality was enough to put him over the edge. He closed his eyes as his orgasm caused his muscle to seize up. His cock pulsed in his hand as he came in spurts all over the floor. His breathing came in ragged gasps and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. His muscles unlocked and his legs began to sag, but the feel of the noose tightening around his neck forced him to take control and straighten them. He looked at her, unsure if the words she had spoken had been meant with sincerity, or if they were said because she knew it would push him over the edge, because – God forgive me – he wanted so much to be with Jeff. Maybe have Greg join in.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">He let the magazine fall to the floor and reached for the rope around his neck.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">He froze. The gun was pointed at him again.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">“I thought. . .” He paused when she took a step towards him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">“What? What did you think? That I would let you walk out of here? That I would let you run to Daddy and tell him what I did to you? And once I was out of the way, in some hospital or institution, you’d be able to console my baby brother? To hold him? Fondle him? You sick bastard!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">The fear was returning, and his heart was racing again; this time it wasn’t from sexual release, but from pure unadulterated terror. But he had to confront her with what she said. “You said if I jerked off for you, we’d all be happy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">She seemed to think this over for a minute, her face taking on a mask of seriousness. When she looked at him again, there was a crazed look in her eyes and a feral grin on her face. “I lied. No. Wait. I didn’t lie.” She looked at the cum-splattered floor. “I think you were very happy for a moment,” she looked and met his gaze, “wouldn’t you say?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">“I won’t tell anyone about this, Christy, I promise.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">“I told you not to call me that,” she raged. “My name’s not Christy! And it’s not Christina!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">He looked at her, completely confused. Had the recent chain of traumatic events caused her to take on a second personality? It wasn’t unheard of, but from what he could remember, it was usually physical or sexual abuse that spurred on that kind of thing. The confusion must have been evident on his face as he tried to figure out this piece of the puzzle, because her next words left him even more confused.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">“My name,” she said, “is Rhonda.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">Rhonda? Why did that name sound familiar?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">“Rhonda. Anne. Darcy.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">The proverbial light bulb went off in his head and recognition dawned.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">“But. . . but you’re. . . dead.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">She laughed. “Yeah, I am, no thanks to you and your buddies.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">“You can’t be. You’re dead.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">“You said that already. And you want to know something?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">He looked at her, his face completely blank.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">“So are you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt">And she kicked the chair out from under him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-55122736876189624672012-01-02T09:44:00.000-08:002012-01-14T21:46:46.795-08:00REVENGE IS A DISH BEST SERVED WITH BUTTER AND OLD BAY SEASONING<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ft_IV__5arw/TwHtPIGo2SI/AAAAAAAAAeo/Mucp2WFWKxU/s1600/clickers2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 207px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ft_IV__5arw/TwHtPIGo2SI/AAAAAAAAAeo/Mucp2WFWKxU/s320/clickers2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693092248102164770" /></a>It's taken me awhile to get around to Part 2 of this series, but I figured what better way to ring out the old year than with a good ol' fashioned crab boil. Well, that, and the fact that Brian Keene recently announced that Clickers vs. Zombies, the fourth installment in this universe, was going to be released later this year. For those who haven't read Part 1, it is highly recommended for sinking your teeth into this one.<div><br /></div><div>It's been 12 years since Hurricane Floyd swept in and all but wiped the town of Phillipsport, Maine, off the face of the map. Twelve years since, under cover of the storm, the Clickers invaded, decimating the small town's population. What the Clickers didn't destroy, the Dark Ones did. Only a handful of people (and a small handful at that) survived. Of the town's inhabitants there were only two, Melissa Peterson and celebrated horror author Rick Sychek. The rest were military personnel.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the years following massacre of Phillipsport, there have been numerous disappearances, all linked to the Clickers and the Dark Ones, but the Government, fearing nation-wide panic, has opted to cover up the truth. Those who threaten to reveal what is actually going on, or come close to discovering the truth, disappear or are killed, which is why Rick and Melissa have gone underground, living under assumed names and trying to keep under the Government's radar. And now, once again, the East Coast is being threatened by another hurricane, and as Hurricane Gary moves onto shore, so too do the Clickers, herded by the Dark Ones. This time the Clickers are bigger. This time the Dark Ones are not just coming up to feed. They are pissed.</div><div><br /></div><div>And they want revenge on those that were massacred following Hurricane Floyd.</div><div><br /></div><div>Can the U.S survive an organized assault by the sea dwellers?</div><div><br /></div><div><div>It's been said of movies that, with rare exceptions, sequels never surpass the original, and quite often fall far from what was accomplished in the original. In the literary world, I find that to be just the opposite, and <i>Clickers II</i> by J.F. Gonzalez and Brian Keene is no exception. Where the original novel put me in mind of the old nature strikes back movies I loved so much as a kid, this one takes things to the next level. We aren't dealing with mindless mutants surfacing to feed, but a thinking, reasoning race out for revenge.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's obvious the authors are assuming the reader is already familiar with the Clickers and the Dark Ones, as they waste no time getting to the meat of the matter. You know what's coming, and you don't have to wait long. This isn't a rehash of the original novel set in a different location—that would be boring—but a continuation of the story. It follows a natural progression from what has gone before, and I am eager to see what happens in the next one. I can't recommend this one enough, but do yourself a favor and grab <i>Clickers</i> first.</div><div><br /></div></div>Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-87702215287288795452011-12-29T07:53:00.000-08:002011-12-29T10:49:37.846-08:00God Bless Us, Everyone!<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VAmJo1u-Kbs/TvyNP0KWqhI/AAAAAAAAAeE/BHRyXCOAlc4/s1600/ZombieChristmas.png"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 216px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VAmJo1u-Kbs/TvyNP0KWqhI/AAAAAAAAAeE/BHRyXCOAlc4/s320/ZombieChristmas.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5691579331929090578" /></a>Having read a few zombie mash-ups of other literary classics, I swore I would never read another one. It's not so much that they're badly written; it's just that the zombie element doesn't add anything to the story. It's kind of like watching Lucas' reboots on his original <i>Star Wars</i> films—it's painfully obvious where the new footage was added, and you find yourself wondering why he had to go ahead and mess with perfection. So why, after swearing off zombie mash-ups, did I have a sudden change of heart and tackle this one? Because I love <i>A Christmas Carol</i>, and I was hoping against hope that the author was able to rise to the challenge and deliver something spectacular. What I found was no different than others I have read.<div><br /></div><div>I'm not going to bore you with a rehash because I'm sure you are all familiar with Dickens' classic tale, be it from Mr. Magoo, The Muppets, or any of the hundreds of countless movies aired every Christmas; what I will tell you is that the only thing lacking in Michael G. Thomas' spin on things is a substantial amount of zombie action. We get through the first half of the book without seeing a single member of the Walking Dead class. They <i>are</i> mentioned; in fact, we find that they are the cause of Jacob Marley's death, but the threat had been entirely eradicated and nobody has seen a single zombie in the seven years since his death. We don't really see any zombies until Scrooge is visited by the first of the three spirits, and it is then that we learn of Marley's death, which could have been avoided if he hadn't been so damned greedy. The threat of another zombie invasion is hinted at when our beloved Ebenezer is visited by the second of the three spirits, but we don't get the full-scale invasion until after the third spirit has come and gone and Scrooge wakes up to realize that the spirits were able to do it all in one night. And thanks to what Scrooge witnessed during his visitation with the spirits, he knows exactly what needs to be done in order to put the Walking Dead to rest once and for all. </div><div><br /></div><div>The one thing that stood out for me in this retelling is Thomas' attempt to explain the current zombie outbreak. We don't see any of the usual causes for the dead rising. There is no meteor shower and no failed government experiments. What we do see is a religious cult that possesses an artifact that allows the person who touches it the power to control the dead. This opens up an entire subplot that, unfortunately, isn't fully addressed in the book. If it had been, I might have enjoyed the book more than I did. The only thing <i>Zombie Christmas Carol</i> was able to accomplish with this reader is to strengthen my conviction that the classics need to be left alone. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-35423713802081524672011-09-03T21:07:00.000-07:002011-09-19T21:48:50.772-07:00ROCK AND ROLL WILL NEVER DIE! THE FANS ON THE OTHERHAND. . .<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HSmg0qqjcLs/TmL5iyJdkhI/AAAAAAAAAcg/d6tSvWdtols/s1600/rockandrollreformschoolzombies.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 207px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HSmg0qqjcLs/TmL5iyJdkhI/AAAAAAAAAcg/d6tSvWdtols/s320/rockandrollreformschoolzombies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648351258648351250" border="0" /></a>Parents.<br /><br />They just don't understand their own kids and the need to be able to express themselves. They want their kids to grow up to be clones of themselves. And as long as you have parents like that, you will have the need for schools like the Southern Illinois Music Re-Education Center, a private institution dedicated to brainwashing the young adults placed in their care by frustrated parents; however, if those parents only knew the atrocities that were being inflicted upon their children—psychological abuse, rape, and murder—they just might regret their decision to force their children to conform by any means necessary.<br /><br />This is the setting for Bryan Smith's <span style="font-style: italic;">Rock and Roll Reform School Zombies</span>, which in itself might seem bad enough, especially for those confined within its walls, but all hell is about to break loose.<br /><br />Melissa Campbell doesn't think things could get any worse. Torn away from her boyfriend and enrolled by her parents in the Southern Illinois Music Re-Education Center, she never expected to be raped by one of her teachers. She's the lucky one because at least she didn't catch the eye of the headmistress. If she had, she might very well be six feet under, a journey one of her housemates has already made, and another who is in the process of making that journey. You see, not only does the headmistress have an eye for the young ladies, she has a taste for hookers and a taste for murder, the ultimate climax in her twisted sex games. Not wanting to face her attacker again, Melissa sneaks a phone call to her boyfriend, pleading with him to come get her and take her away, but afterward she doesn't think that he's going to come through for her, so she has to rely on her one friend in the house to help her get out of there.<br /><br />Little does Melissa know, her boyfriend, Wayne Devereaux, and his best friend, Steve Wade, are on their way to get her out of there. Neither has a clue as to what they are getting themselves into, only that Melissa is not happy where she is. As they head toward the school, a meteor burns through the sky, crashing into the fields not too far from the school. Meteors crash into the earth all the time, right? So as long as they don't land on you, no harm done, right?<br /><br />Wrong!<br /><br />Whether it's from the radiation or some sort of bacteria released upon the meteor's entry into the earth's atmosphere, four dead girls rise from the grave with a hunger for fresh meat. And as is the way with all things zombie, the population begins to grow exponentially, kinda like that old Faberge commercial—they told two friends and they told two friends and so on and so on—and before you know it, the house is overrun with the living dead.<br /><br />Will Wayne and Steve get to the house in time to save Melissa, or will they become zombie chow before they get through the front door? Will Melissa gain her freedom from the torments of the house, only to become the main course in a zombie smorgasbord?<br /><br />I wasn't sure what to expect with <span style="font-style: italic;">Rock and Roll Reform School Zombies</span><span>. I mean, years ago I rented this movie called <span style="font-style: italic;">Hard Rock Zombies</span>, and it turned out to be a bad, campy movie, and even though I knew Smith's novel was classified as horror, I wasn't sure if this was going to be a serious horror novel or something on the quasi-humorous side</span>. I quickly learned that I had nothing to worry about.<br /><br />Unlike most of the zombie fiction I've been reading, <span style="font-style: italic;">Rock and Roll Reform School Zombies</span><span> starts at the beginning. There are no zombies running amok when the book starts, and it isn't until the meteor passes that the dead start to rise from their graves. It harkens back to Romero's <span style="font-style: italic;">Night of the Living Dead</span> when news commentator is asking one of the scientists what might have started it all. I was glad to see that, with one or two exceptions, Smith treated zombies in the more traditional manner—mindless shamblers with a hunger for flesh. Had they the more modern twist that seems to be invading so many of the zombies films I've been seeing, i.e., zombies that could easily beat out the fastest runner of the Boston Marathon, I doubt I would have finished reading it.<br /><br />I also found it interesting that the only likable characters in the book are the kids; they are fully fleshed out and you find yourself rooting for them as they go up against the zombies. Smith's adults, on the other hand, tend to be flat cardboard characters, the bad guys with no redeemable qualities whatsoever. You are meant to dislike them, and Smith goes to the extreme to make sure you don't. You want to seem them fall prey to the walking dead; they are so bad that you don't even want to see them come back as zombies, but as is the nature of the living dead, you know they will. And they do, which only serves to fuel the survival instinct in the kids. I could very easily see a smile on the faces of these kids as they send the zombies back to the hell they came from, especially after they made their lives a living hell when they were alive.<br /><br /></span>I genuinely liked <span style="font-style: italic;">Rock and Roll Reform School Zombies. </span>Bryan Smith has created a fun, fast-paced tale of the dawning of the zombie apocalypse, and I would definitely recommend it.Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-21391007603776004502011-08-23T18:54:00.000-07:002011-08-23T21:22:19.798-07:00Send in the Clowns. . . Uh. . . On Second Thought. . .<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aCF4AN0HLO8/TlRZ4ZW1DRI/AAAAAAAAAb4/wa3ZinpbRvI/s1600/zc_book_cover_web_large.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aCF4AN0HLO8/TlRZ4ZW1DRI/AAAAAAAAAb4/wa3ZinpbRvI/s320/zc_book_cover_web_large.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644235058416258322" border="0" /></a>As I continue my search for the next great zombie novel, a friend of mine loaned me a copy of Keith Carpenter's <span style="font-style: italic;">Zombie Circus: The Most Death Defying Show in Town</span>. It was something I had spotted on Amazon and made a mental note to check out when the price came down. At 166 pages, I found paying ten bucks for the Kindle version a little hard to swallow, and forking over twenty bucks for the paperback even harder to swallow. I got burned once paying a high price for an unknown, and after having read Carpenter's little novel, I am so glad I didn't shell out the money for it, which is really sad because I wanted to like this book more than I did.
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<br />The book starts out in the town of Ashbrooke in the year 1946. Ashbrooke is a little backwater town, heavy on the religion, so when the Fink and Zimner Freak Show and Circus roll into town, a majority of the town folk were downright furious that such a shameless display of the evil and debauchery should set up tents in their little town, and they had every intention of making their feelings known.
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<br />The circus folk, however, are well aware of how the town folk feel, as they were greeted with hostility every time they passed through. So what makes them think this year is going to be any different? They don't, but they came prepared with the Apa Vie, a tonic that promised a good long life if used properly. Madame Zadora is against the selling of the Apa Vie because she knows what can happen should it fall into the wrong hands.
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<br />When the town folk, led by the less-than-holy Pastor Harry Farwell, and the circus folk meet, things get a little out of hand. Well, that's an understatement. Things actually go to Hell in a handbasket, and by the time it is over, all but one of the circus folk are dead, and the pastor has had his hand severed. In the skirmish, the pastor has the misfortune of being splashed with the Apa Vie, and by the next day, his hand has grown back, which he takes as a sign from God that he has done the right thing.
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<br />Jump sixty years later, and another circus is pulling into town. This time around, the majority of the town folk are looking forward to it, but there is one man who would love nothing better than to run them out of town—the local sheriff. The circus sets up on the same grounds where the previous circus met their end, and the only thing still around from the previous performers is a decrepit caravan wagon—and a case of Apa Vie. When the Apa Vie bottles are broken and the mystical fluid seeps into the ground, it reanimates the charred, decaying corpses of the previous circus, and they rise up seeking revenge.
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<br />Can the town of Ashbrooke survive the wrath of the Circus of the Damned?
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<br />As I said earlier, I really wanted to like this more than I did. I like the premise behind it, as it brings to mind campy classics like Hard Rock Zombies and Killer Klowns from Outer Space, and if the circus aspect has been done before in a zombie novel, I haven't come across it yet. So what was wrong with it? For one thing, the characters come across as cardboard cutouts, stereotypes of the kind of character they are meant to be, with very little development to flesh them out. They lack dimension, and the words that come out of their mouths are so stilted it's laughable.
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<br />In addition to the dialogue being laughable, the book itself is painful to read in places. The author does not seem to have a grasp of basic writing skills, as there are run-on sentences, mixed tenses within a sentence, misspelled words galore, all evidence that this book wasn't placed in the hands of a proofreader or editor. Had it been, the book might have been elevated to an enjoyable read.
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<br />Aside from the actual writing, I also found situations in the book to be very contrived, something that might have been forgivable had the book been better written. A group of survivors are holed up in an old church, and when they have the chance to escape, they move to the back of the building, where there's a convenient secret door that will lead them outside. Obviously it wasn't so secret if they made right for it. There's a zombie monkey crammed into the glove compartment of a car, ready to spring like a blood-hungry Jack in the Box. How the hell did it get the car door open, climb into the glove compartment, and pulled the panel closed?
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<br />As poorly written as the book is, I can't say it was all bad because I did like the idea behind it. As I was reading it, it brought to mind John Carpenter's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Fog</span>, a movie I love. Is it worth reading? If you don't mind a book that reads like a very roughly written first draft, because that was my overall impression of the book, I'd say, "Go for it." However, if you are put off by poor writing, this might be one to skip.
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<br />Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4855796752826297937.post-2171549707951003242011-08-11T08:22:00.000-07:002011-08-11T12:46:07.443-07:00A MISH-MASH OF MONSTERS<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O6niQI99ujA/TkQCOFUHl6I/AAAAAAAAAbo/vHuT-PpEaCY/s1600/TerrorTown.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O6niQI99ujA/TkQCOFUHl6I/AAAAAAAAAbo/vHuT-PpEaCY/s320/TerrorTown.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639635074342688674" border="0" /></a>It's rare for me to sit back after finishing a book and wonder what I just read. Unfortunately, James Roy Daley's <span style="font-style: italic;">Terror Town</span> had me doing just that, which is sad because the book started off with such promise.
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<br />Daley paints a portrait of a picturesque little town, but like most towns, no matter how quaint they seem on the outside, there's always a darkness that lurks in the heart of some, if not all, of its residents. Of all the town's resident, Nicolas Nehalem has perhaps the darkest heart. Despite the worn exterior of his house, the interior is meticulously maintained, which only serves to deepen the horror of what lies beneath. Beneath the cellar, in a subcellar of his house is a torture chamber with two occupants.
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<br />It's obvious from their physical condition—caged, with missing fingers and toes and emaciated to the point their ribs are visible—that Olive Thrift and Cathy Eldritch have been held captive in Nehalem's Chamber of Horrors for quite some time.
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<br />Daley makes it a point to emphasize the third cage in his description of the subcellar, and Nicolas' apparent displeasure that the third cage is unoccupied. This sets the stage for what could be a thrilling psychological horror novel, but you are left wondering what this has to do with the book's description, which promises vampires and zombies.
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<br />Daley then introduces the reader to Daniel McGee, a summer resident of the town of Cloven Rock. He is in the process of renovating his home with the hopes of making it a full-time residence. While working in the basement, he discovers the existence of a sub-basement, which he proceeds to explore. However, upon his initial attempt to check out the place, he never reaches the bottom. The sudden drop in temperature combined with the impenetrable darkness and the mysterious sounds propel him toward the surface. Right away you assume this might be the lair of the promised vampires, but no. When Daniel returns in the company of friends to continue his exploration of the basement, he uncovers the lair of the mutated spider/crab hybrids, one huge one and a bunch of smaller ones that have hatched from a bunch of egg sacs.
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<br />One of Dan's friends is devoured by the huge monstrosity, and another of his friends has been bitten and stung by the creature. The bite or the sting, it's never clear which, triggers a metamorphosis, and the young lady turns into a rage-filled lunatic who turns on her friends. But that's only the beginning. Shortly, she becomes encased within a cocoon, within which she undergoes a physical transformation and sets out on a bloody rampage.
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<br />So where, you might ask, do the promised zombies and vampires come into play? Disappointingly, they don't. Cameron, the young lady who was bitten by the creature, transforms into a vampire-like creature, but actual vampires? Not in this book. And there is not a zombie in sight. Those who Cameron bites become enthralled to her and do her bidding, but I would hardly call this a zombie. A vampire-like servant to the vampire-like creature? Yes, but zombies? That's pushing it.
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<br />The fact that the book does not deliver what it promises is a disappointment and a failure, and it's the first of many in <span style="font-style: italic;">Terror Town</span>. The first major failure, in my opinion, is the number of monsters Daley attempts to incorporate in this novel. Sadistic killer, mutant spiders, vampire-like creatures and their servants. It's too becomes too much; the reader ends up rolling his/her eyes and thinks, "Okay, what else is he going to throw in here next?" Sometimes less is more. Pick one baddie, two at the most, and go with it.
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<br />Another fail in this book is the excessive gore. I'm not usually one to complain about the amount of blood and guts spilled in a book—I loved the whole extreme horror of the Splatterpunk movement—but it needs to be done well. The descriptions contained within Daley's novel are almost laughable, with the skulls that broke with a POP! It's like a bad B movie where they want to see just how far they can go to sicken the viewer (reader), but in the end it becomes a joke. Think <span style="font-style: italic;">Dead Alive</span>, one of the goriest movies ever made; the blood fest is so excessive you can't help but laugh at it. It's almost as if Daley is attempting to overachieve in order to detract from the sloppy writing. Notice I said sloppy, not bad.
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<br />While the book on the whole is not badly written, it is in desperate need of an editor and a proofreader to clean up the text. Daley, in his attempt to creative as graphic an image as possible, tends to overwrite. When describing teeth, he says they are "like needles, like knives." Needle brings to mind images of a rattlesnake with their thin, venom-injecting fangs; knives generate an image of pointed, wider, dagger-like teeth, the teeth of a carnivore. Pick one, needle or knives, not both.
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<br />Another area where the book could have benefited from an editor/proofreader's eye is with author's misuse of words and the cleanup of additional words contained within sentences. There are numerous instances where the wrong words have been used—"option" where it is clear "opinion" should have been used—and repeated instances where additional words appear in within a sentence, for example, "he pointed it the gun at". Happening once or twice can be forgiven, but the number of times this type of error occurs is sloppy. There's also a point where Hellboy, William's pure-breed boxer is described as having a stumpy little tail, typical of boxers, but later on, when the creatures are struggling to emerge from the basement, the dog is described as have its tail between its legs. Last time I checked, a stumpy little tail couldn't drop between the legs.
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<br />Had the manuscript been turned over to a trained eye, what turned out to be a barely passable read could have been elevated to an okay read. Had Daley tightened up his story line a little more, choosing to keep his creature count to a minimum instead of the Monster Mash it was, the okay read might very well have made the move to a good read. But as it stands now, it's just a mish-mash mess that should be passed over, not passed on.
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<br />Wooferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042672012155516555noreply@blogger.com0